HE  ROMAN 

OAD  ag  ae  ae 


GIFT  OF 


r*  TV/I     i»., 


JO 


/    IV 


THE    ROMAN    ROAD 


BY  THE   SAME  AUTHOR 


THE  ROMAN  ROAD,  tamo  .  .  .  .  $1.50 
TALES  OF  DUNSTABLE  WEIR.  iamo  .  .1.50 
THE  WHITE  COTTAGE,  izmo  .  .  .1.50 
ON  TRIAL.  A  Novel.  iamo  .  .  .  .1.50 
LIFE  IS  LIFE,  isrno 1.50 


THE  ROMAN  ROAD 


Gwendoline, 
ZACK 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1903 


COPYRIGHT,  1903,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published,  May,  1903 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

PRINTING  AND  BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

THE  ROMAN  ROAD i 

THE  BALANCE in 

THOUGHTY 195 


THE    ROMAN    ROAD 


THE    ROMAN    ROAD 


CHAPTER  I 

GROOT  village  was  built  half  moon  fashion 
round  the  edge  of  a  marsh.  The  rotting  houses 
humped  themselves  up  a  slight  incline  and 
squinted  at  the  marsh  out  of  one  eye,  while  the 
other  skewed  round  to  peer  over  a  succession  of 
dips  and  rises  towards  Groot  Hall.  Straight 
through  the  heart  of  the  village  ran  the  Roman 
Road  and  passed  on.  It  seemed  to  image  forth 
life  triumphant  over  disease  and  failure.  Groot 
and  the  house  of  Groot  had  need  of  their  Roman 
Road,  and  many  a  time  old  Sir  Theophilus  had 
looked  at  it  fiercely  before  he  stepped  aside 
after  his  three  sons  had  died  leaving  the  prop- 
erty to  his  nephew  Roland.  This  change  of 

3 


"4   '  THE   ROMAN   ROAD 

masters  did  not  profit  Groot  much,  for  Roland, 
though  but  a  bare  eight  and  twenty,  was  in  debt 
to  the  Jews. 

It  was  owing  to  an  oversight  on  the  part  of 
Providence,  Groot  felt,  that  bible  folk  like  the 
Jews  had  not  been  long  since  respectably  dead 
and  buried,  and  as  this  was  not  to  be,  they 
agreed  Providence  might  at  least  have  so  ar- 
ranged matters  that  Wantage,  Sir  Theophilus' 
younger  nephew,  succeeded  to  the  property  in- 
stead of  his  brother. 

"A  mere  matter  of  horning  one  afore  the 
other  ain't  like  wiping  out  a  race,"  Groot  ob- 
served over  its  beer,  and  no  one  in  the  position 
to  do  either  of  these  deeds  but  must  have  ad- 
mitted there  was  perspicacity  in  Groot's  remark. 
Providence  in  fact,  while  it  had  refused  to  juggle 
with  the  many  little  causes  which  made  Roland 
Roland  and  Wantage  Wantage,  had  yet  not 
been  neglectful  of  village  interests,  and  none 
knew  this  better  than  Mrs.  Groot,  the  lady  that 
seemed  so  to  have  misadventured  over  and 
through  the  sound  laws  that  should  govern  good 


THE  ROMAN   ROAD  5 

primogeniture.  If  it  had  ever  occurred  to  Mrs. 
Groot  in  an  unwary  moment  of  introspection  to 
sum  up  herself  by  the  light  of  her  past,  she 
would  have  said  that  she  was  a  good  woman, 
who  had  made  one  little  mistake ;  but  the  seven 
deadly  sins  sprung  from  one  root  could  not  have 
shown  signs  of  bearing  a  finer  crop  than  did  the 
little  mistake  Mrs.  Groot  had  grafted  on  to  the 
tree  of  her  fortunes.  By  nature  Mrs.  Groot  be- 
longed to  those  infinitely  wise  people  that  never 
indulge  in  skirmishes  with  their  own  thoughts 
for  the  pleasure  of  fighting,  but  events  pressed 
hard  and  think  she  must  whether  she  would  or 
no.  She  sat  now  in  the  yellow  drawing-room 
at  Groot  Hall  waylaid  by  an  army  of  thoughts. 
Roland,  meditative  and  amused,  watched  her 
from  the  terrace,  then  he  flung  away  his  cigar 
and  entered  the  room. 

"Well,  mother,"  he  said,  "are  you  planning 
a  bazaar,  or  a  new  curate,  or  is  it  merely  that 
the  cook  has  hung  herself?" 

Mrs.  Groot  twisted  her  head  round,  bird 
fashion,  and  looked  at  her  son.  He  was  a 


6  THE   ROMAN   KOAD 

middle-sized,  slightly  built  man,  with  a  face  that 
was  hard  without  being  unkindly. 

" What's  that  you  say,  Roland,  about  the  cook 
having  hung  herself?  I  am  sure  I  hope  she 
hasn't.  Her  clear  soups  are  quite  excellent." 

"Console  yourself.  I  believe  she  has  not  yet 
carried  her  knowledge  of  clear  soups  into  a 
celestial  sphere.  But  what's  the  worry, 
mother?" 

Instead  of  replying,  Mrs.  Groot  rose  and 
looked  at  the  clock.  She  had  something  to  say 
to  her  son,  but  the  thing  once  said  she  wished 
to  be  in  a  position  to  close  the  interview.  It 
was  six  o'clock,  at  half  past  six  her  niece  Jean 
Morice  would  arrive;  Mrs.  Groot  decided  to 
speak.  Pushing  a  low  chair  nearer  the  fire  she 
sat  down  and  opened  a  fan  to  shield  her  face; 
but  whether  she  had  approached  the  fire  for  the 
opportunity  it  afforded  her  of  manipulating  the 
fan,  or  whether  she  had  chanced  on  the  fan  as 
a  ready  means  of  protection  against  the  fire  Mrs. 
Groot  did  not  know  more  than  the  dullest 
spectator.  If  the  theory  of  the  existence  of  a 


THE   ROMAN   EOAD  7 

second  self  be  true  then  it  must  be  admitted  that 
this  woman's  secondary  self  was  for  ever  on  the 
alert  to  guard  its  mistress  from  all  possible 
forms  of  attack.  Roland  glanced  down  at  the 
fragile  jewelled  hands,  which  looked  as  if  they 
spent  their  time  weaving  and  unweaving  gos- 
samer threads,  and  then  up  at  his  mother's  soft, 
womanly  face.  Mrs.  Groot  was  forty-five,  she 
suffered  from  an  incurable  disease,  angina-pec- 
toris,  but  the  onslaught  of  that  grim  old  stalker, 
pain,  had  not  whitened  the  hair  which  coiled 
smooth  and  mouse-coloured  round  the  shapely 
head. 

"You  are  looking  well,  mother,"  he  re- 
marked. 

Mrs.  Groot  smiled ;  no  compliment  meant  for 
Mrs.  Groot  ever  fell  short  of  its  goal.  Her 
face  grew  more  soft,  more  kindly.  "I  shall 
always  love  you  best,  Roland,"  she  said,  and  then 
with  a  glance  of  reproach  at  the  clock  she  dived 
straight  for  the  deep  waters  of  all  she  had  to 
say.  "How,"  she  asked,  "could  I  be  expected 
to  know  that  your  cousins  would  die?" 


8  THE  ROMAN   KOAD 

"Really,  mother,"  exclaimed  Roland,  tug- 
ging at  his  moustache,  "what  has  that  got  to  do 
with  it?  Still,  they  did  die  of  phthisis,  didn't 
they?" 

"No  reasonable  person  dies  from  consump- 
tion nowadays,"  replied  his  mother  with  de- 
cision. 

"I  daresay  they  regret  their  folly  more  than 
I  do." 

"You!"  cried  Mrs.  Groot,  turning  on  him 
fiercely,  "you  have  no  business  where  you  are 
at  all, — an  idle,  good-for-nothing  spendthrift. 
Why  you  should  be  you,  and  Wantage  Wantage, 
is  just  one  of  those  perverse  fates  that  makes 
this  world  such  an  aggravating,  impossible 
place." 

"You  are  a  bit  stinging." 

"I  sting  myself," — though  it  must  in  truth 
be  admitted  that  the  sting  did  not  protrude  be- 
yond the  figure  of  speech. 

"Am  I  so  bad  as  all  that?" 

Mrs.  Groot  leant  back  in  her  chair  and  laid 
her  fan  on  the  table.  She  was  about  to  attack 


THE   ROMAN   ROAD  9 

Roland.  Possibly  as  a  weapon  of  offence  a  fan 
is  of  scant  service. 

"Baker  tells  me  that  you  have  given  orders 
for  the  oaks  in  the  long  walk  to  be  felled." 

"I  am  afraid  they  must  come  down,"  replied 
Roland  shamefacedly. 

"They  mustn't." 

"Really,  mother,  I'm  sorry,  but " 

"Wantage  would  never  have  them  down." 

"Wantage !  He  hardly  comes  into  the  ques- 
tion. Does  he?" 

Mrs.  Groot  looked  curiously  at  her  son. 
"Supposing  the  place  were  his,  not  yours?" 

"It  seems  rather  idle  to  suppose  that." 

A  sudden  helplessness  crushed  down  on  Mrs. 
Groot.  "Do  you  think  so?"  she  said,  letting 
both  her  hands  fall  palm  outwards  on  her 
knee. 

"Don't  you?" 

"He  would  be  a  better  landlord." 

"Ah,  yes." 

"The  village  has  been  very  neglected." 

"Horribly." 


10  THE  ROMAN   KOAD 

"At  least  he  would  make  it  weather-tight." 

"I  suppose  so." 

"And  you " 

"Ah,  I — I  shall  do  nothing,  of  course," 
Roland  replied,  assuming  an  indifference  that 
did  not  hang  well  with  the  cut  of  his  thoughts. 

Mrs.  Groot's  oppression  lightened  somewhat. 
"There  is  no  doubt  that  you  deserve  to  be 
ousted,"  she  said. 

"One  does  not  always  get  one's  deserts." 

Her  face  grew  hard.  "I  have  always  loved 
you  more  than  Wantage." 

"A  case  in  point,  you  see." 

Her  face  grew  harder.  "Still  I  must  guard 
his  interests." 

"Of  course." 

"Even  when  they  clash  with  yours."  She 
paused  a  moment  and  reconsidered  the  position. 
It  was  foolish,  she  thought,  to  waste  sympathy 
in  advance.  "Oh,  I  wish  I  were  a  little 
wickeder,"  she  exclaimed.  "One  needs  a  hard 
heart  to  do  right." 

Roland  laughed  uneasily. 


THE  KOMAN   KOAD  11 

"Well,  then,  don't  do  right.  I  hate  hard- 
hearted women." 

She  grew  more  cheerful  and  at  ease.  "If 
only  I  could  take  your  advice,"  she  said.  "But 
then  there's  Wantage." 

"How  does  he  come  in?" 

"Oh,  he — he's  the  one  who  would  be 
wronged." 

Drawing  his  upper  lip  in  with  his  teeth, 
Roland  frowned  down  upon  his  mother.  "Well, 
that  wouldn't  please  you,"  he  said  harshly. 

Mrs.  Groot  broke  into  a  little  hysterical  laugh. 
Something  prompted  her  to  be  womanish  at  all 
costs.  "Oh,  no,  it  wouldn't  please  me.  I've 
had  eighteen  months  of  misery." 

"Eighteen  months!    Why  eighteen  months?" 

A  sob  choked  a  way  through  Mrs.  Groot's 
lips.  "I  prayed  and  prayed  and  prayed  that 
your  cousins  might  live,  but  God  never  heard 
me.  He  never  does  when  you  really  ask 
Him." 

Roland  stared  at  his  mother,  and  then  bend- 
ing down  shook  her  lightly  by  the  shoulder. 


12  THE  KOMAN  EOAD 

"What  do  you  mean?  Why  talk  in  these  de- 
testable riddles?  Let  us  have  a  little  plain- 
speaking." 

A  curious  notion  that  if  she  spoke  quickly 
things  ought  to  smooth  out  and  look  pleasant 
again  skipped  through  Mrs.  Groot's  mind. 
"When  Wantage's  father  died,"  she  said,  "there 
was  no  money  worth  troubling  over.  I  thought 
it  did  not  matter  being  silent  then,  besides  he 
was  as  fond  of  you  as  Wantage."  She  stopped 
short;  Roland's  face  looked  the  reverse  of  un- 
ruffled, and  Mrs.  Groot  felt  dully  aggravated 
at  his  refusal  to  play  the  part  assigned  to 
him. 

"Wantage's  father,"  he  rapped  out,  "my 
father  too,  I  hope." 

There  was  a  brief  pause ;  Mrs.  Groot  glanced 
up  at  the  little  ormulu  clock.  It  wanted  ten 
minutes  to  the  half  hour.  Bending  down 
Roland  took  his  mother  gently  by  the  wrists. 
"Mother,  answer  me.  He  was  my  father?" 

"You  hurt  me,  Roland,"  she  said,  but  she  did 
not  struggle  to  free  herself. 


THE  ROMAN  EOAD  13 

He  dropped  her  hands.  "I  suppose  I  am 
answered." 

"I  have  always  loved  you  best,"  she  said 
feebly,  bursting  into  tears. 

He  crossed  to  the  window  and  stared  out. 
Mrs.  Groot  watched  him  and  remarked  with 
strange  inconsequence  how  well  his  clothes 
and  his  lithe  figure  became  each  other.  "I 
thought,"  she  murmured,  "that  you  need  never 
know." 

"One  always  has  to  know  these  things  in  the 
end." 

"But  you  will  never  feel  the  same  to  me 
again." 

"So  I'm  not  Roland  Groot  — I'm  Ro- 
land  " 

A  sharp-toned  red  dyed  Mrs.  Groot' s  delicate 
face.  "I  don't  know  how — such  people  are 
called,"  she  said. 

"I  bear  your  name,  mother,"  he  answered 
more  gently. 

"Morice,  then.  It's  spelt  i-c-e.  It's  not  a 
bad  name  as  names  go.  I  have  always  thought 


14  THE   KOMAN  EOAD 

Groot  so  ugly."  She  looked  expectantly  at 
Roland,  half  awaiting  him  to  pick  up  this  crumb 
of  comfort  and  make  a  meal  of  it. 

"Still,  I  would  rather  be  called  Groot,"  he 
answered,  brutally  direct. 

"Oh,  don't  say  it  in  words." 

"And  my  father?" 

"He  is  dead." 

"Dead,  is  he?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm  glad  of  that." 

"You  needn't  speak  so  bitterly,  Roland.  He 
— loved  me." 

"He  was  a  cur  for  all  that." 

Mrs.  Groot's  face  darkened.  "You  are  quite 
wrong." 

"A  man  is  the  best  judge  of  these  things." 

"He  was  always  so  good,  so  tender — never 
harsh,  Roland,  as  you  are  inclined  to  be  some- 


times." 


Roland    quitted    the    subject.       "Wantage 
knows  nothing  of  this?" 
"I  have  not  told  him." 


THE  EOMAN  EOAD  15 

"But  he  must  be  told." 

Mrs.  Groot  paused  and  tapped  the  toe  of  her 
right  foot  impatiently  against  the  ground.  "Ah, 
you  think  so  too?"  she  said. 

"Of  course  I  think  it.  What  else  could  I 
think?" 

"I  thought  perhaps  if  I  told  you,  you  might 
see  things  in  a  fresh  light.  I've  brooded  over 
it  all  so  long." 

"A  thing  either  is  or  isn't.  I  can't  be  Roland 
Groot  and  Roland  somebody  else  at  the  same 
time." 

"But  you  could  be  a  different  Roland  Groot, 
more — well,  more  like  Wantage,"  Mrs.  Groot 
said,  turning  half  round  in  her  chair  to  watch  the 
remark  well  home  to  Roland's  understanding. 

It  appeared  not  to  reach  the  goal.  "I  don't 
see  your  point,"  he  rapped  out. 

She  had  expected  him  to  be  dense,  and  there- 
fore was  not  annoyed.  "Oh,  don't  you  under- 
stand," she  replied  airily,  "that  if  you  had  been 
Wantage  and  Wantage  you,  I  need  never  have 
spoken?" 


16  THE  EOMAN   ROAD 

He  clung  to  dulness  as  to  a  garment.  " Where 
does  that  come  in?"  he  asked,  and  bending 
down  stared  his  mother  in  the  face.  Mrs. 
Groot  drew  back,  she  detested  to  be  at  close 
quarters  with  anything  or  one,  idea  or  man ;  be- 
sides that,  she  thought  her  son's  conduct  un- 
pleasant and  therefore  ungentlemanly.  She  did 
not  however  give  way  to  her  feeling  of  grievance, 
but  stuck  creditably  to  the  affair  in  hand.  "Be- 
cause then,"  she  said,  "things  would  have  been 
better  left  as  they  were." 

Roland  laughed  out  harsh  and  sudden.  "A 
novel  reason  for  conversion  certainly,"  he  an- 
swered. "Don't  you  see,  mother,  that  my  turn- 
ing saint  and  he  fiend  would  not  alter  the  car- 
dinal fact  that  the  property  is  his  by  right?" 

This  was  a  point  of  view  Mrs.  Groot  did  not 
wish  to  see  from,  and  she  avoided  it  by  leaning 
back  and  glancing  at  the  clock.  The  hands  had 
scarcely  moved,  she  therefore  tackled  the 
question. 

"Sometimes  I  see  it  like  that,  but  then  again 
I  should  always  feel  that  perhaps  God  did  not 


THE  ROMAN   ROAD  17 

wish  him  to  have  Groot.  Oh,  Roland!  (Mrs. 
Groot  clasped  her  hands)  you  don't  know  how 
I  have  begged  and  prayed  God  that  you  might 
pull  up  in  time." 

Roland  felt  hampered  by  an  inability  to  keep 
pace  with  his  mother's  strange  freaks,  which  at 
one  bold  cut  severed  the  plane  of  most  folk's 
ethics,  and  then,  whirling  gaily  round  in  a  moral 
ellipsis  of  their  own  contriving,  left  him  in  the 
position  of  an  amazed  spectator.  Bending  down 
he  took  her  delicate,  fragile  hand  in  his  and 
looked  at  it  as  if  it  were  some  strange  specimen 
butterfly.  "I  never  did  like  logic  in  a  woman," 
he  said  in  his  harsh,  bitter  voice,  "but  there  are 
limits." 

Offended,  she  scarce  knew  why,  Mrs.  Groot 
withdrew  her  hand.  "Oh,  don't  imagine  that  I 
can't  see  the  matter  your  way,  it's  only  that  I 
can't  feel  it  like  that;  and  then,  too,  I  have  often, 
often  thought  of  Wantage,  and  what  a  dear, 
good  boy  he  has  always  been,  and  how  inter- 
ested he  is  in  the  poor.  You  know,  I  do  love 
Wantage." 


18  THE   ROMAN   KOAD 

"Of  course,  mother." 

Mrs.  Groot  again  felt  vaguely  annoyed. 
"Wantage  is  a  little  trying,  you  must  admit, 
Roland;  and  then  he  hasn't  your  figure.  He 
and  his  clothes  never  quite  hit  it  off ;  but  one  so 
seldom  finds  taste  in  the  really  good." 

"Where  is  he  now?" 

"In  Liverpool,  working  in  some  hideous  slum. 
The  place  is  so  dirty  that  he  is  obliged  to  wear 
a  new  sort  of  oil-silk  next  his  skin.  It  creaks, 
and  I  believe  people  think  he  wears  paper  shirts 
— so  terrible.  He  comes  back  next  week." 

Roland  turned  away.  "I  suppose  some  poor 
devil  of  an  East-ender  will  get  the  money 
now." 

Again  Mrs.  Groot  felt  that  it  would  be  absurd 
to  waste  sympathy  in  advance  upon  Roland. 
"And  you?"  she  asked  coldly. 

"Oh,  mine  is  a  simple  case.  I  shall  be  made 
bankrupt." 

She  wheeled  round  on  him  at  once.  "How 
could  you  manage  to  run  through  so  much  money 
in  eighteen  months?" 


THE  ROMAN   ROAD  19 

"I  am  afraid  I  must  confess  to  raising  the 
wind  further  back  than  that.  You  see  I  had 
more  faith  in  phthisis  doing  its  work  than  you 
had." 

The  hands  of  the  clock  steadily  advanced  and 
Mrs.  Groot  felt  altogether  more  at  ease.  She 
sat  up,  so  as  to  give  her  words  more  effect. 
"That  was  very  wrong  of  you,  Roland." 

Again  he  disappointed  her  of  her  own.  "Ah, 
yes,"  he  replied  airily,  "but  it  is  evident  I  was 
forced  to  do  wrong  that  you  might  do  right. 
Providence,  you  know — always  so  alert  in  these 
matters." 

Her  manner  stiffened.  "I  don't  understand," 
she  said,  "but  I  am  sure  you  are  profane." 

"Am  I?     I  feel  profane  enough." 

Mrs.  Groot  indulged  in  an  appeal.  "Oh, 
Roland,  Roland,  don't  you  see  that  you  ought 
to  be  a  good  man  for  my  sake  ?" 

Bitterness  crept  over  him.  "Because  it  would 
have  been  better  if  I  had  never  come  on  the 
scenes,  I  suppose?" 

"You  put  it  coarsely,  but  I  did  mean  that." 


20  THE  EOMAN   EOAD 

"Fates  are  against  you.  I  am  afraid  there  is 
small  chance  of  my  turning  saint." 

A  distant  bell  sounded  as  he  spoke.  The  long- 
awaited  moment  of  release  had  come,  and  Mrs. 
Groot  rose  with  affected  nonchalance.  "Oh,  I 
quite  forgot,"  she  said.  "That  must  be  your 
Australian  cousin." 

"My  Australian  cousin!"  repeated  Roland  in 
surprise.  "Never  heard  of  him." 

"Oh,  you  must  remember  my  speaking  of 
Jean  Morice,  my  brother  John's  only  child." 

"Is  she  pretty?" 

"My  dear  Roland,  I  have  never  seen  her. 
She  has  only  just  arrived  from  Australia.  I  have 
ordered  mutton  for  dinner  and  given  special  in- 
structions that  tea  without  milk  should  be  sent 
in  afterwards.  I  believe  they  live  like  that  out 
there." 

"Good  Lord!    Is  she  black,  by  any  chance?" 

"No,  no,  of  course  not,  and  quite  young.  I 
think  I  hear  her  coming.  You  must  entertain 
her,  Roland,  I  am  not  up  to  it.  Parkins  knows 
her  room." 


THE  ROMAN  ROAD  21 

Mrs.  Groot  walked  hastily  to  the  door,  stop- 
ping with  her  fingers  on  the  handle  to  observe : 
"I  believe,  by  the  way,  she  has  some  sort  of 
chaperone  with  her.  I  have  forgotten  the 
woman's  name,  but  you  can  easily  look  as  if  you 
knew  it."  Then  she  went  out  and  left  him. 


CHAPTER  II 

WHEN  Jean  Morice  entered  the  yellow 
drawing-room,  Roland  had  disappeared.  Her 
glance  travelling  slowly  round  the  great  room, 
was  stayed  from  time  to  time  by  wide  spaces 
bare  of  all  but  restfulness.  The  room  pleased 
her  and  she  sat  down  on  a  high  straight-backed 
chair  and  fell  into  a  dream.  Life,  over-rich  in 
much,  is  prodigal  of  isolation;  there  is  always 
a  strip  over  to  wrap  each  man  round  and  spread 
out  in  quietude  at  his  feet;  with  Jean  perhaps 
this  shadowful  land,  where  the  dust  of  roads 
is  unknown,  stretched  a  little  further  than  with 
most,  and  possibly  she  loved  more  to  dwell 
in  it. 

When,  later,  Roland  returned,  he  wondered 
first  what  had  made  her  choose  that  particular 
chair  and  how  she  came  to  draw  so  restful  a 
picture  of  herself. 


THE   ROMAN   ROAD  23 

"We  are  cousins,  are  we  not?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  Jean." 

"And  I  merely  Roland." 

She  smiled.  "It  is  satisfactory  to  find  that 
we  are  each  ourselves,"  she  said. 

"Do  you  think  that  is  satisfactory?"  he  asked 
with  languid  interest.  "One  has  to  atone  for  it 
so  often." 

Jean  looked  at  the  question.  "There  is  a 
possible  privilege  in  paying  for  what  one  has 
had,"  she  answered. 

"Or  what  some  one  else  has  had,"  he  said  with 
a  laugh. 

"We  were  all  tipped  in  our  school-days,"  ad- 
mitted Jean. 

"And  rooked  when  we  came  to  years  of  dis- 
cretion," Roland  added. 

At  that  a  shrill  voice  broke  in  upon  them. 
"Be  sure  and  put  it  in  a  dry  spot,"  cried  the 
voice.  "I  am  afraid  from  the  looks  of  this  house 
that  the  place  is  damp." 

Roland  glanced  at  his  cousin. 

"Oh,  that  is  Miss  O'Rell,"  Jean  answered 


24  THE   ROMAN   EOAD 

composedly.  "I  suppose  she  is  giving  directions 
about  her  piano." 

"Does  she  generally  travel  with  a  piano  as 
part  of  her  luggage?" 

"This  piano  has  a  particular  value  for  Miss 
O'Rell.  It  belonged  to  her  mother.  Miss 
O'Rell  brought  it  out  to  Queensland  thirty  years 
ago  and  didn't  like  to  leave  it  behind.  Very 
natural,  don't  you  think?"  Jean  never  apol- 
gised  for  her  friends,  and  it  must  be  admitted 
that  she  picked  up  strange  acquaintances. 

"Ah — hum — yes,  most  natural.  But  will  she 
play  on  it?" 

"Ah,  here  she  comes  to  answer  for  herself," 
said  Jean. 

A  stout,  middle-aged,  plain-featured  woman 
entered  the  room.  "Well,  my  dear,"  she  ex- 
claimed gleefully,  "I  have  seen  it  housed." 

"I  am  glad  of  that.  This  is  my  cousin, 
Roland  Groot." 

Miss  O'Rell  wheeled  round.  "Oh!"  she  ex- 
claimed,  "you  can  tell  me  if  I  am  right  in  letting 
them  put  my  piano  in  the  west  wing." 


THE  ROMAN   KOAD  25 

"I  think  it  will  be  quite  safe  there,"  he  an- 
swered gravely.  "The  west  wing  is  the  driest 
part  of  the  house." 

An  expression  of  relief  came  into  Miss 
O'Rell's  homely  face.  "The  poor  thing  suf- 
fered so  on  the  voyage,"  she  said.  "The  many 
changes  in  the  temperature  hurt  its  feelings,  and 
I  want  it  to  know  that  it  is  at  home  at  last,  and 
cared  for." 

Jean  smiled.  "I  think  it  will  soon  feel  it  is  at 
home  again,"  she  said  softly. 

Then  the  dressing  gong  sounded,  and  swept 
every  one  upstairs. 

Life  had  hardened  but  had  not  succeeded  in 
uniting  in  Roland  the  instincts  of  a  gentleman 
with  the  actions  of  a  blackguard.  He  had  sailed 
close  to  rocks,  had  heard  the  near  shriek  of 
many  a  whirlpool,  and  still  had  avoided  ship- 
wreck more  perhaps  from  a  natural  affection  for 
the  lead  than  aught  else,  for  unlike  Mrs.  Groot 
Roland  had  always  desired  to  come  to  close 
quarters  with  his  thoughts  and  know  exactly 
where  he  stood.  It  seemed  to  him,  thinking  over 


26  THE   ROMAN   ROAD 

his  interview  with  his  mother,  that  the  question 
so  far  concerned  itself  more  as  to  where  she 
stood  than  where  he  did,  and  he  concentrated 
his  mind  on  that  point.  Roland  was  fond  of 
his  mother,  but  he  did  not  cherish  many  illusions 
concerning  her.  In  his  mind  she  remained 
clothed  because  he  had  a  distaste  for  seeing  so 
close  a  relation  stripped;  at  the  same  time  he 
knew  himself  to  be  capable  of  undressing  the 
poor  frail  thing  did  grim  need  demand  a  sight 
of  her  bare  skin.  Such  a  moment  he  felt  had 
come.  What  end,  he  asked  himself,  did  his 
mother  seek  to  attain?  Would  she  divulge  to 
Wantage  and  to  the  world  what  she  had  already 
divulged  to  him?  If  not,  why  had  she  broken 
silence?  Had  she  by  subtle  intuition  sounded 
some  deeper  depth  in  his  character  than  he  had 
ever  plumbed?  Did  his  mother's  conscience  in- 
sist on  having  its  whipping-boy  and  would  it  only 
feel  safe  from  the  cane  when  his  back  was  tin- 
gling? Mrs.  Groot  sailed  serenely  into  the 
yellow  drawing-room  as  Roland  asked  himself 
these  questions. 


THE   ROMAN   ROAD  27 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "I  hurried  through  with  dress- 
ing on  the  off  chance  of  catching  you  alone." 

Mrs.  Groot  frowned;  she  disliked  the  expres- 
sion he  had  made  use  of  almost  as  much  as  she 
disliked  being  caught,  but  she  did  not  show  her 
annoyance. 

"So  good  of  you  taking  Jean  off  my  hands," 
she  said,  tearing  open  and  smoothing  out  the 
telegram.  She  read  it,  paused  a  moment  in 
thought,  and  then  hastily  crumpled  the  twitter- 
ing, crackling  bit  of  paper  up  in  a  ball,  and 
flung  it  to  the  fire. 

"Bad  news,  mother?" 

"Yes.  I  mean,"  she  added,  correcting  her- 
self, "that  Wantage  is  coming  back.  He  ought 
almost  to  be  here  now." 

"Wantage!     I  thought  it  was  next  week?" 

"My  dear,  has  Wantage  ever  arrived  at  any 
moment  but  the  most  inconvenient?" 

"There  is  nothing  against  his  arriving  now 
that  I  can  see,  and  there  certainly  is  enough 
matter  for  his  presence." 

"My  dear  Roland,  how  can  you  be  so  foolish 


28  THE   ROMAN   ROAD 

as  to  imagine  that  I  should  breathe  a  word  about 
this  troublesome  business  to  him  as  long  as  your 
cousin  is  here?" 

Roland  sighted  land.  "Will  she  be  here 
long?"  he  asked. 

"She  has  an  open  invitation.  I  am  certainly 
not  going  to  hurry  dear  John's  only  child  out 
of  the  house  the  first  time  she  puts  foot  in  it." 

"What  made  you  pitch  on  this  particular  time 
to  ask  her?" 

Mrs.  Groot  felt  justified  in  her  irritation. 
"What  a  pointless  question.  Jean  has  only  just 
reached  England,  and  naturally  she  comes  first 
to  her  own  relations." 

Roland  resettled  one  of  the  coals  with  his 
foot.  "It  would  be  wiser  to  face  things  out 
and  have  done  with  them,"  he  said,  but  he 
did  not  expect  that  his  suggestion  would  be 
acted  on. 

Mrs.  Groot  was  more  than  annoyed.  "You 
speak  in  a  very  unfeeling  and  coarse  fashion, 
Roland,  but  I  haven't  the  strength  to  face  things 
out,  as  you  call  it.  Of  course  I  shall  be  espe- 


THE  KOMAN  ROAD  29 

cially  kind  to  Wantage  this  time,  and  I  think, 
Roland,  you  ought  to  make  a  point  of  taking 
more  than  usual  interest  in  the  dear  fellow's 
affairs." 

"I  never  felt  less  interest  in  a  man's  hobbies 
in  my  life." 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  what  you  feel,  or  I 
feel, — it  is  a  question  of  what  we  owe." 

"We  appear  to  owe  him  so  very  much  more 
than  we  are  inclined  to  pay." 

"That  is  one  of  your  remarks  that  appears 
both  pointless  and  rude." 

"Pardon,  mother,  I  thought  it  was  just  the 
truth,  but  then  I  was  speaking  for  myself." 

"You  should  consider  more  before  speaking," 
replied  Mrs.  Groot,  seating  herself  in  a  low 
chair  and  taking  up  the  fan.  "We  are  both  in 
a  peculiarly  delicate  position,  Roland." 

"And  how  do  you  propose  we  should  act 
in  it?" 

Mrs.  Groot  slowly  fanned  herself.  "We 
must  pay  Wantage  with  one  hand,"  she  said, 
"while " 


30  THE   ROMAN  ROAD 

"Helping  ourselves  to  his  till  with  the  other. 
Quite  so,  mother." 

"That,  Roland,  was  not  at  all  what  I  was 
going  to  say." 

"Do  you  know,  mother,  I  am  beginning  to 
get  a  very  wholesome  dislike  of  Wantage,- — the 
result,  I  suppose,  of  helping  myself  to  his  till." 

The  leaves  of  Mrs.  Groot's  fan  clicked  as  they 
fell  together  in  a  sharp  little  ivory  shower.  "I 
don't  in  the  least  understand  what  you  mean. 
Personally,  I  was  never  fonder  of  him.  Ah," 
she  added,  the  door  opening,  "here  is  Wantage. 
Oh,  my  dear  boy!"  she  exclaimed,  rushing  up 
and  kissing  the  newcomer  on  both  cheeks,  "we 
are  so  delighted  to  have  you  back  again." 

WTantage  disengaged  himself  from  the  em- 
brace with  both  courage  and  coolness.  "Thanks, 
dear  mother,  I  thought  you  would  be.  Ah,  you 
there,  Roland?  How  do?"  and  Wantage  held 
out  a  flabby  hand  gloved  in  green  calf. 

Roland's  hands  took  instant  refuge  in  his 
pockets. 

"The  first  gong  has  gone  three-quarters  of  an 


THE   ROMAN   KOAD  31 

hour,"  he  observed,  "but  perhaps  you  prefer  to 
dine  in  those  peculiarly  unsavoury  looking 
clothes." 

Mrs.  Groot  glanced  at  Wantage  and  acknowl- 
edged to  herself  once  again  that  good  taste  in 
morals  did  not  imply  good  taste  in  dress.  There 
was,  she  felt,  something  almost  pitiable  in  the 
way  he  had  fingered  himself  into  the  wrong 
things.  He  had  taken  such  evident  trouble  that 
his  lack  of  success  seemed  the  more  cruel. 

"Dear  Wantage,"  she  exclaimed,  "why  do 
you  always  choose  shiny  things?" 

Thus  addressed,  Wantage  looked  inquiringly 
at  his  clothes.  "I  got  a  very  decent  fellow  to 
choose  this  tweed  for  me,"  he  said. 

"My  dear  boy,"  returned  his  mother,  feeling 
even  as  she  spoke  that  her  warning  would  be 
thrown  away,  "the  sort  of  people  you  mix  with 
can't  be  depended  on  in  such  matters;  their 
genius  is  all  for  the  other  world ;  in  this  world, 
Wantage,  their  taste  is  sadly  to  seek." 

Jean  entered  as  Mrs.  Groot  spoke  and  she 
turned  and  kissed  her  niece  with  genuine  ten- 


32  THE   ROMAN   ROAD 

derness,  partly  because  her  arrival  was  oppor- 
tune and  partly  because  the  girl  herself  was 
young,  charming,  and  the  child  of  a  man  Mrs. 
Groot  had  a  real  affection  for. 

"Dear  Jean,"  she  said,  "so  delighted  to  have 
met  you  at  last.  You  put  me  in  mind  of  your 
father,  especially  about  the  eyes.  Poor  dear 
John,  so  sad  his  dying  just  when  he  did,  but  that 
is  always  the  way.  Still  we  mustn't  talk  of  sad 
things  the  moment  we  meet.  Let  me  see,  you 
and  Roland  have  made  friends  already,  I  be- 
lieve; and  this  is  my  son  Wantage.  Wantage, 
your  Australian  cousin." 

Wantage  wheeled  round  and  held  out  a 
flabby  hand  still  encased  in  green  calf.  "How 
do;  I  hope  now  you  have  come  so  far,  that  you 
will  interest  yourself  in  our  poor  people.  There 
is  a  great  deal  to  do  in  the  village  by  those  who 
are  willing  to  do  it." 

Jean  did  not  jump  at  the  invitation,  neither 
did  she  reject  it.  She  smiled  and  then  turned 
to  introduce  Miss  O'Rell,  who  had  entered. 

Mrs.  Groot  advanced  enthusiastically  towards 


THE  ROMAN  EOAD  33 

her  guest,  for  she  felt  that  any  woman  content 
to  cut  so  odd  a  figure  could  not  fail  of  being  of 
use  in  village  affairs.  "Now,  if  Miss  O'Rell 
will  take  an  interest  in  our  poor  neglected  vil- 
lage I  am  sure  Wantage  will  need  no  better 
supporter." 

"Hm!  Ha!  most  charmed,"  remarked 
Wantage,  and  bestowed  a  wary  glance  upon  Miss 
O'Rell,  much  as  does  a  mouse  when  it  suspects 
the  trap  in  the  cheese,  and  having  made  up  his 
mind  that  there  was  poison  about,  Wantage  beat 
a  retreat  upstairs  to  dress. 


CHAPTER  III 

AN  irregular  flight  of  rooms  in  the  west  wing 
had  been  pressed  into  the  service  of  Jean,  Miss 
O'Rell  and  Miss  O'Rell's  piano.  The  sitting- 
room,  which  with  a  fine  sense  for  ease  had  ar- 
ranged itself  in  a  wide-spread  angle,  peered  out 
from  a  set  of  windows  on  to  the  distant  village, 
while  down  upon  an  old-fashioned  bowling 
green  it  looked  with  one  deep-set  eye.  Miss 
O'Rell  sat  at  this  window  sketching.  Her  pict- 
ure was  the  bowling  green  in  a  mood  which  a 
spectator  might  well  believe  the  bowling  green 
did  not  often  publicly  indulge.  Its  well-ordered 
reserve  had  fled  and  the  whole  wide  stretch  of 
grass  lay  expanded  in  laughter.  So  broad  was 
the  thing's  mirth  one  blushed  to  play  the  part 
of  eavesdropper,  and  feared  in  another  moment 
to  hear  how  the  world  was  made,  the  secret  di- 
vulged in  Elizabethan  English.  Miss  O'Rell 

84 


THE   ROMAN   KOAD  35 

undisturbed  added  a  trace  more  gamboge  to  the 
green  on  her  palette. 

"Jean,"  she  said,  "your  English  village  op- 
presses me.  I  would  not  ask  a  Kanaka  to  live 
in  such  a  place." 

"A  Kanaka !"  repeated  Mrs.  Groot,  who,  fol- 
lowed by  Wantage,  entered  at  this  moment.  "Is 
that  a  new  kind  of  nut?  I  wonder  if  the  Army 
and  Navy  would  have  it?" 

"The  Kanakas  are  coloured  folk,  Aunt 
Emily,"  said  Jean.  "They  work  in  the  Queens- 
land plantations." 

"How  delightful  I  I  am  so  interested  in 
Australia.  It  seems  so  far  away,"  ended  Mrs. 
Groot  vaguely. 

"Mother,"  said  Wantage,  coming  forward 
with  a  large  brown  paper  parcel,  "what  am  I  to 
do  with  this?" 

"Ah,  those  are  some  things  I  bought  at  a 
bazaar,"  Mrs.  Groot  remarked,  undoing  the 
parcel  as  she  spoke.  "They  are  so  perfectly 
hideous  I  thought  they  would  be  the  very  thing 
for  the  village.  Jean,  you  must  give  them  to 


36  THE   EOMAN   ROAD 

the  dear  people,  you  know  the  giver  is  always 
more  than  half  the  gift." 

Jean  smiled.  "If  you  enlist  my  services  you 
must  tell  me  who  the  things  are  for,"  she 
said. 

Mrs.  Groot  held  up  a  long,  narrow  red  shirt 
and  regarded  it  intently. 

4 'Let  me  see;  I  believe  this  is  the  identical 
garment  old  Miss  Skiffington  made  for  a  con- 
verted Hindoo,  but  I  don't  know  of  one  at  pres- 
ent. You  must  use  your  discretion,  and  if  you 
see  any  one  the  shirt  is  likely  to  fit,  why  give  it 
them  by  all  means."  So  saying,  she  folded  and 
replaced  the  shirt,  and  fearing  that  the  parcel 
might  contain  more  enigmas  than  she  cared  to 
solve  hastily  corded  it  up.  "And  now,  dear 
Jean,  put  on  your  hat,  the  sooner  you  and  Wan- 
tage start  the  better." 

Jean  rose  to  do  as  she  was  bid  and  Mrs. 
Groot  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  first  at 
Miss  O'RelPs  picture  and  then  sharply  at  the 
bowling  green. 

"My  dear  Miss  O'Rell,"  she  exclaimed  in  a 


THE  EOMAN   ROAD  37 

shocked  voice,  uwhen  did  you  see  the  bowling 
green  looking  like  that?" 

"Last  night  when  the  dew  was  falling,"  Miss 
O'Rell  replied  composedly. 

Mrs.  Groot  was  filled  with  dismay.  "Mac- 
kenzie must  be  told  at  once.  It  must  need 
mowing,  and  yet  from  here  the  grass  looks  quite 
short." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  and  then  Miss 
O'Rell  lifted  a  vacant  face  to  her  hostess. 
"Yes,"  she  said,  "tell  Mackenzie  to  keep  it  in 
order.  The  mood  would  lose  its  freshness  if 
indulged  in  too  often." 

More  startled  than  reassured  Mrs.  Groot 
hastened  away.  The  incident,  so  trivial  in  itself, 
caused  her  to  entertain  a  quite  disproportionate 
fear  of  Miss  O'Rell,  a  fear  that  was  at  once 
followed  by  dislike  and  suspicion.  The  old  saw 
which  says  that  one  half  of  the  world  does  not 
know  how  the  other  half  lives  is  true  in  more 
senses  than  most  credit,  and  it  is  these  mysterious 
and,  as  Mrs.  Groot  found,  startling  glimpses  we 
get  into  our  own  and  one  another's  souls  that 


38  THE   ROMAN   ROAD 

constitute  the  education  of  life;  and  yet  it  is 
only  a  distorted  reflection  and  not  a  man  that 
has  thus  flitted  past,  and  he  that  gives  chase 
tracks  down  a  phantom. 

Miss  O'Rell  washed  out  her  brushes  and 
rolled  them  up  in  a  worn  leather  leaf.  "That 
woman,"  she  remarked,  "reminds  me  of  a  locked 
box  with  nothing  inside  but  a  cobweb." 

Rising,  she  opened  the  piano  and  began  to  play. 
She  carried  into  her  music  the  same  marked  in- 
dividuality that  she  did  into  her  painting.  Ro- 
land, detesting  the  thoughts  that  circumstances 
pressed  on  him,  caught  sound  of  the  music,  stood 
awhile  and  listened,  then  went  and  begged  ad- 
mittance. Miss  O'Rell  nodded  permission  and 
he  sat  down  in  one  of  the  bow  windows  and  won- 
dered to  himself  how  so  plain-faced  a  woman 
came  to  have  so  many  secrets. 

Had  life  in  a  spirit  of  grim  farce  given  the 
plain-faced  woman  a  heart  to  love  with,  and  had 
Spring  whispered  for  her  with  the  tread  of 
coming  lovers,  coming  lovers  that  never  came? 
Till  that  moment  Roland  had  not  felt  the  least 


THE   ROMAN   ROAD  39 

interest  in  a  plain  woman,  he  had  a  vague  idea 
that  she  eked  out  a  dull  existence  minding  babies 
and  dusting  down  the  stairs,  but  beyond  that  his 
surmise  did  not  extend.  It  seemed,  however, 
that  women,  plain  or  pretty,  middle-aged  or 
young,  had  a  foolish  habit  of  harping  on  the 
same  string  as  if  all  alike  expected  listeners  to 
their  tune.  Roland  felt  truly  sorry  for  Miss 
O'Rell,  he  tried  to  think  of  a  kind  of  man  that 
might  be  foolish  enough  to  fall  in  love  with  her, 
but  imagination  failed  him  and  manufacture 
such  an  oaf  he  could  not.  Miss  O'Rell  ceased 
playing  and  shut  the  piano. 

"A  fig  for  clamour  1"  she  exclaimed.  "Give 
me  honest  silence.'1 

"Is  silence  ever  honest?"  said  Roland. 

"It  is  the  only  honest  thing  left,"  Miss  O'Rell 
answered,  twisting  herself  round  on  the  music 
stool  and  letting  her  hands  fall  idly  in  her  lap. 
"Silence  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  bad  com- 
pany, but  loves  all  that  is  beautiful." 

"A  great  many  dirty  things  take  refuge  in  it," 
he  said  bitterly. 


40  THE  KOMAN   EOAD 

"Ah,  well,"  she  answered,  "they  don't  hurt 
silence.  It  is  silence  that  hurts  them." 

Roland  scrutinised  the  woman's  plain  face. 
"Tell  me,  Miss  O'Rell,"  he  asked,  "would  you 
recommend  honesty  as  a  profession?" 

She  opened  the  piano  and  played  three  dis- 
connected bars.  "It  is  a  poor  profession,"  she 
said,  "but  a  good  livelihood." 

"What  is  a  poor  profession  and  a  good  liveli- 
hood?" asked  Jean,  who  entered  at  this  moment 
and  stood  slowly  pulling  off  her  gloves. 

The  afternoon  sun  pouring  richly  in  through 
the  open  window  seemed  as  if  it  must  stream 
through  the  slight  opposing  figure  of  the  girl. 
Her  hair  ruffled  by  the  wind  caught  fire  and  crept 
in  little  flames  of  red  and  gold  across  the  smooth 
forehead.  Roland  looked  at  her  with  sudden 
interest.  "We  are  trying  to  wed  honesty  to 
silence,"  he  explained.  "Will  you  throw  rice  at 
the  happy  pair?" 

"A  silent  honesty  or  an  honest  silence,  which 
is  the  finest?"  asked  Jean. 

"Honesty  such  a  necessary  thing  in  a  servant," 


THE  ROMAN   ROAD  41 

said  Mrs.  Groot,  who,  having  fallen  thrall  to  a 
notion  that  it  would  be  safer  to  keep  an  eye  on 
Miss  O'Rell,  now  popped  hurriedly  into  the 
room.  "I  do  hope,"  she  continued,  "that  none 
of  you  are  so  unwise  as  to  leave  money  about. 
It  was  only  last  week  I  had  to  send  away  an 
under-housemaid  for  stealing  half-a-crown.  She 
declared  it  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  done 
such  a  thing  and  implored  me  not  to  mention 
it  in  her  character;  but  of  course  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  say  that  she  was  dishonest.  Stealing 
must  be  put  down." 

Roland's  face  darkened.  "I  happened  to  see 
the  girl's  father  to-day  and  he  begged  me  to 
ask  you  to  take  her  back." 

"My  dear  Roland,  what  an  extraordinary  re- 
quest to  make.  Of  course  I  couldn't  think  of 
entertaining  it  for  a  moment." 

"Oh,  I  said  she  was  to  have  a  fortnight's  holi- 
day and  then  come  back,"  Roland  remarked 
coolly.  "You  might  give  her  a  rise  in  wages, 
mother.  Encourage  her  to  be  honest,  tempta- 
tion overcome  is  a  battle  won,  you  know." 


42  THE  ROMAN   KOAD 

Mrs.  Groot  did  not  argue  the  matter.  She 
disliked  wrangling  in  public  or  private.  "I  am 
sorry  you  did  that  without  first  consulting  me," 
she  said  and  left  the  room. 

Following  shortly  after,  Roland  found  his 
mother  in  the  garden  cutting  roses.  "Are  you 
vexed?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  at  him.  He  had  a  high-bred  face 
and  she  felt  glad  that  he  was  her  son.  "Dear 
Roland,"  she  answered,  "little  things  like  that 
haven't  the  power  to  vex  me.  I  put  them 
straight  away  and  forget  them." 

Roland  had  often  felt  pity  for  his  mother, 
but  suddenly  he  felt  compassion,  that  blood  and 
bones  of  ruth.  "I  wish  for  your  sake,  dear 
mother,"  he  said,  "that  big  things  could  be  put 
away  as  easily  as  little." 

The  remark  vexed  her.  She  hated  an  unex- 
pected turn  in  a  conversation,  it  made  her  suspi- 
cious of  the  speaker's  intentions.  "You  seem 
to  delight  in  putting  me  in  mind  of  what  I  want 
to  forget,"  she  exclaimed  petulantly.  "Why  do 
you  do  it?" 


THE  ROMAN   KOAD  43 

He  could  not  but  ask  himself  the  same  ques- 
tion. "I  suppose,"  he  answered,  "because  one 
always  believes  that  the  other  person's  attitude 
to  the  thing  is  the  same  as  one's  own.  It  gener- 
ally isn't  though." 

Mrs.  Groot  frowned.  "The  difference  be- 
tween my  attitude  and  yours  is  that  what  I  can't 
mend  I  like  to  banish  from  my  thoughts." 

"But,"  he  said,  taking  her  hands  firmly  in  his, 
"you  are  going  to  mend  this  as  far  as  it  is  pos- 
sible to  mend  such  a  thing."  Yet  even  as  he 
spoke  it  seemed  that  it  was  to  himself  and  not  to 
her  that  he  put  the  question. 

She  tried  to  withdraw  her  hands,  but  finding 
she  could  not  do  so  without  a  struggle  let  them 
remain  in  his.  "You  make  me  sorry,  Roland, 
that  I  ever  spoke  to  you." 

"Why  did  you  speak  to  me,  mother?" 

Something  startled  Mrs.  Groot.  A  devilish, 
lack-comfort  reason  had  presented  itself,  bowing 
and  scraping  over  the  edge  of  her  mind.  She 
banished  the  imp  and  conjured  up  a  more 
sober,  plausible  companion.  "I  told  you,  Ro- 


44  THE   ROMAN   ROAD 

land,  because  it  was  the  honest,  upright  thing 
to  do." 

He  let  her  hands  drop  and  walked  away  with- 
out a  word.  She  gave  a  little  suppressed  cry 
and,  twisting  round  like  a  live  butterfly  on  a  pin, 
fell.  Roland  ran  and  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  but 
pain  had  a  tighter  grip  and  taking  this  husk  of 
a  woman  ripped  it  first  this  way,  then  that,  and 
when  the  poor  fragile  sheaf  was  torn  from  end 
to  end,  there,  as  the  folded  wings  of  a  sleeping 
soul,  lay  courage. 

Roland,  as  he  held  his  mother's  twisted,  shiv- 
ering body,  and  looked  down  on  the  dumb  white 
lips,  wondered  at  her  for  meeting  one  issue  so 
bravely  and  yet  turning  so  wan  a  face  upon  the 
other.  Later,  with  this  thought  still  uppermost 
in  his  mind,  he  found  himself  alone.  He  was 
standing  near  a  boundary  wall  that  ran  along 
the  lower  end  of  the  park.  A  tree's  roots  had 
burst  a  way  through  the  masonry  and  made  the 
old  wall  skew,  bulge  and  take  on  a  shape  that 
ill  became  so  ponderous  a  person.  Fate,  it 
seemed  to  Roland,  was  twisting  his  life  in  much 


THE  EOMAN  ROAD  45 

the  same  high-handed  fashion.  He  looked 
across  the  wall  towards  the  rotting  village  and 
wished  that  the  foul  thing  would  get  swallowed 
up  by  the  foul  marsh  into  which  it  gaped.  It 
imaged  forth  a  very  small-pox  of  dishonour,  and 
contact  with  it  set  the  soul  itching  to  scratch  out 
her  own  beauty.  He  turned  away  nauseated, 
and  doing  so  he  heard  the  sharp  click  of  a  gate 
and  glancing  down  saw  Jean.  The  wall  threw 
a  cumbrous  shadow  on  the  slight  figure,  yet 
Roland  felt  that  the  wall  with  its  blind  force 
would  fare  but  ill  if  ever  it  played  at  buff  with 
the  woman. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  think  of  our 
village?" 

"I  have  seen  so  few  English  villages,  a  bare 
two  or  three." 

"You  won't  venture  on  a  comparison?" 

Jean  smiled.  "It  would  be  more  interesting 
perhaps  if  you  told  me  what  you  thought  of  it." 

"I  make  a  point  of  never  thinking  of  it.  Why 
should  I  think  of  anything  so  damnable?"  he 
answered  brutally. 


46  THE  KOMAN  ROAD 

Jean  looked  out  upon  the  village.  "Poor 
damned  thing!"  she  said. 

They  were  both  silent  a  moment. 

"Why,"  she  asked,  "can  no  one  make  bricks 
without  straw?  There  is  obviously  some  quite 
simple  way  of  doing  it." 

"You  must  wait  till  every  one  lives  in  a  tent 
from  choice  for  that  question  to  be  answered. 
But  after  all,"  he  added  with  candour,  "there 
is  in  fact  no  necessity  for  the  village  to  remain 
the  beastly  hovel  it  is.  Money  could  be  found 
out  of  the  estate  to  put  the  place  in  decent  re- 
pair; all  that  is  needed  is  that  the  right  man 
and  the  money  should  come  together." 

Jean  looked  at  her  cousin's  eager,  bitter  face. 
"Probably  it  is  not  so  simple  as  all  that,"  she 
answered. 

He  was  grateful  to  her  because  she  did  not 
judge  before  she  had  seen  the  matter  from  more 
sides  than  one.  "Out  in  Australia,"  he  asked, 
"does  a  man  learn  wisdom  from  looking  at  bare 
fields?" 

"Not    wisdom,  — -  still    I    have    sometimes 


THE  ROMAN  KOAD  47 

thought  he  learns  patience,  but  patience  is  a  big 
thing.    I  suppose  Nature  alone  knows  it." 

He  sprang  lightly  down  from  the  wall  and 
took  his  place  beside  her.  "Supposing,  humanly 
speaking,  it  were  possible  to  lay  the  whole  facts 
of  the  case  before  you.  What  then?  Would 
you  judge?" 

"No,"  she  answered  and  drew  a  little  further 
away  from  him. 
"Why  not?" 

"Why  do  you  ask  these  questions?" 
"Because  of  the  ethical  value  of  all  answers." 
"Still,"  she  replied  coldly,  "that  gives  you  no 
right  to  ask  the  question  and  I  shall  not  an- 


swer it." 


It  seemed  as  if  Roland's  experience  of  women 
had  been  fated  to  be  enlarged  on  that  particular 
afternoon,  for  having  undergone  the  unique  sen- 
sation of  finding  himself  interested  in  plain  Miss 
O'Rell  in  spite  of  her  looks,  he  now  matched  it 
by  feeling  a  lively  concern  in  Jean  apart  from 
her  looks.  Jean  without  doubt,  with  her  oval 
face,  spacious  brow  and  fine  curling  mouth,  was 


48  THE  EOMAN  EOAD 

beautiful,  but  Roland  forgot  the  beauty  in  an 
interest  in  the  woman. 

"Some  day  out  of  cousinship  you  will  answer 
that  question,  Jean." 

"Who  knows!"  said  Jean  and  turned  home- 
wards. He  did  not  go  with  her.  He  had  but 
a  short-lived  interest  in  woman  just  then;  but 
wandering  away  into  fields  fell  to  cursing  him- 
self and  his  fate. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PARSON  PORT  was  dead,  but  Groot  still  ob- 
served Parson  Port's  Sunday.  Indeed  that  fine 
ample-bodied  spirit  had  left  his  mark  on  the 
village; — there  was  old  Tom  Kettle  who  Par- 
son Port  in  a  conservative  humour  had  married 
to  the  wrong  woman,  for  no  other  reason,  it  ap- 
peared, than  that  she,  poor  simple  creature,  had 
seen  fit  to  dress  herself  in  white  while  the  bride 
had  chosen  to  go  robed  in  blue.  All  Groot, 
silent,  astonished,  and  abashed,  had  stood  by 
while  this  most  unloverlike  knot  was  tied,  and 
not  one  from  Tom  Kettle  downwards  had  had 
the  spunk  to  up  and  abrogate  the  ceremony,  con- 
tenting themselves  with  observing  afterwards 
over  their  beer, 

"Tom  was  a  man  and  her  a  woman  and  they 
reckoned  that  was  what  marriage  meant  if  it 
meant  anything." 

49 


50  THE  ROMAN   ROAD 

When  Mrs.  Groot  retired  to  rest  on  Saturday 
she  might,  as  a  person  versed  in  the  habits  of 
her  own  constitution,  have  foretold  that  she 
would  awake  on  the  following  morning  with  a 
sick  headache,  but  on  Sunday,  the  headache  duly 
arriving,  no  one  was  more  surprised  than  Mrs. 
Groot.  She  sent  for  Roland.  He  came  unwill- 
ingly; he  had  begun  to  find  his  own  desires  re- 
flected in  hers  and  the  picture  thus  made  struck 
him  as  quite  abnormal  in  its  hideousness. 

"Roland,"  she  said,  "I  had  a  most  extraor- 
dinary dream  last  night.  I  really  feel  very  ill. 
I  think  I  shall  go  to  church.  It  is  Parson  Port's 
Sunday,  so  that  in  any  case  I  should  have  felt  it 
right  to  make  the  effort."  She  was  silent  a  mo- 
ment and  sniffed  feebly  at  her  smelling  salts. 
"I  dreamt  I  was  in  the  fowl  yard.  So  odd; — 
a  place  I  should  never  think  of  being  in  if  I  were 
awake.  The  hens  all  flew  at  me,  Roland.  There 
was  one  creature  with  reddish  feathers  and  eyes 
like  Miss  O'ReH's.  (Mrs.  Groot  twisted  her- 
self suddenly  round  and  buried  her  face  in  the 
pillows.)  It  tried  to  peck  my  face,  but  I  beat 


THE  EOMAN   KOAD  61 

it  off.  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  Miss  O'Rell. 
I  wish  she  had  never  come  into  the  house. 
You  must  find  some  excuse  for  sending  her 
away." 

Roland  sat  down  on  the  bed.  This  latest 
vagary  of  his  mother's  had  at  least  the  merit  of 
amusing  him.  "Why  should  you  want  such  a 
harmless  old  thing  as  Miss  O'Rell  sent  pack- 
ing?" he  expostulated. 

"Do  you  think  she  is  harmless?"  Mrs.  Groot 
asked,  sitting  up  and  scanning  his  face. 

"It  would  be  hard  to  find  any  one  more  so, 
I  should  imagine." 

"Roland,"  said  Mrs.  Groot,  with  an  insight 
bought  at  the  mart  of  experience,  "it  is  these 
very  harmless  people  that  do  all  the  mischief." 

"What  mischief  could  she  do?" 

Mrs.  Groot  poured  some  lavender  water  into 
a  little  silver  basin.  "If  I  had  anything  I 
wished  to  conceal,  which  thank  GOD  I  haven't," 
she  remarked,  bending  down  and  sprinkling  her 
face,  "I  should  be  afraid  of  Miss  O'Rell." 

"Why  would  you  be  afraid?" 


52  THE   EOMAN   KOAD 

"She  is  so  mysterious.  I  don't  understand 
her  in  the  least." 

"I  should  have  thought  she  was  simple 
enough." 

"You  are  no  judge  of  character,  Roland. 
Tell  me,  have  you  seen  her  picture  of  the  bowl- 
ing green?  I  don't  believe  any  one  but  Miss 
Q'Rell  could  have  made  the  bowling  green  look 
like  that." 

"What  did  it  look  like?" 

"Frankly,  Roland,  it  looked  indecent  and — 
and  wicked" 

Roland  burst  out  laughing.  "Then  at  all 
costs  let  us  buy  it.  But,"  he  added  with  a  return 
to  seriousness,  "I  should  have  thought  you  had 
quite  enough  real  worries  without  manufacturing 
trouble  out  of  nothing.  Miss  O'Rell  is  a  harm- 
less, eccentric,  middle-aged  woman  and  I  have 
no  doubt  but  that  she  is  as  good  as  she  is 
plain." 

Paradoxically  this  attestation  of  Miss  O'RelPs 
moral  worth  served  rather  to  increase  than  allay 
Mrs.  Groot's  fears.  "I  have  all  my  life  dis- 


THE   ROMAN   ROAD  63 

trusted  that  kind  of  good  person,"  she  remarked. 
"However,  I  don't  wish  to  act  with  undue  haste. 
I  will  go  to  church  and  decide  what  is  to  be  done 
when  I  come  back." 

Roland  got  up. 

"I'll  order  the  horses  then." 

"No,  I  will  walk.  I  don't  think  it  is  right 
to  take  the  horses  out  on  Sunday.  One  can't  be 
too  particular  about  little  things,  Roland." 

He  half  smiled.  "But  you  are  tired,  mother, 
and  have  a  headache." 

Mrs.  Groot  leant  back  upon  the  pillows.  "I 
think  God  must  know  that  I  try  to  do  right," 
she  exclaimed  feebly. 

Roland  looked  at  the  tired  white  face.  "I 
expect  our  measure  was  taken  long  ago,"  he  an- 
swered. 

The  remark  irritated  Mrs.  Groot.  She  felt 
her  son  was  profane  in  speaking  of  God  as  if 
God  were  a  tailor,  also  she  was  not  above  dis- 
liking the  idea  of  being  measured  even  by  a 
Deity.  However,  she  did  not  give  vent  to 
either  feeling.  "I  am  quite  sure,"  she  said, 


54  THE  ROMAN  BOAD 

"that  when  we  die  God  will  consider  what  we 
have  tried  to  do  and  not  what  we  have  done." 

"If  death  doesn't  close  the  book  for  us,"  sug- 
gested Roland  yawning. 

"Oh,  my  dear  boy,  please  don't  let  me  hear 
you  suggest  such  a  thing.  I  am  certain  there 
is  a  life  after  death.  What  would  be  the 
use  of  trying  to  do  right  if  there  was  to  be  no 
reward.  Life  would  be  quite  meaningless  if  this 
were  all.  I  remember  when  I  was  a  little  girl 
I  was  very  fond  of  a  pigeon  till  one  day  I  re- 
membered that  it  had  only  this  life,  then  I  ceased 
to  care  for  it  at  once.  I  like  things  that  go  on 
and  on,  they  are  always  so  much  more  secure." 

"Ah  well,"  said  Roland,  glancing  at  his  watch, 
"it  doesn't  much  matter  what  we  believe,  our 
sons  will  believe  something  different.  But  if  you 
are  going  to  church,  mother,  there  is  no  time  to 
waste.  Shall  I  ring  for  Parkins?" 

"Yes,  do." 

When  some  three-quarters  of  an  hour  later 
Mrs.  Groot  came  slowly  down  the  stairs,  Jean 
was  standing  near  the  great  chimney  piece  in  the 


THE  ROMAN   ROAD  55 

hall  talking  to  her  cousins.  The  fire-light  shone 
upon  the  girl's  delicate  face,  and  her  hair  be- 
neath the  wide-brimmed  sombre  hat  became  itself 
a  flame  of  molten  colour.  Mrs.  Groot  smiled 
approval,  and  was  surprised  into  wondering 
whether  her  brother  had  left  Jean  well  or  badly 
off.  Then  at  the  next  turn  of  the  staircase  she 
caught  sight  of  Miss  O'Rell,  and  her  face  hard- 
ened. "Dear  Miss  O'Rell,"  she  exclaimed 
gushingly,  "we  must  walk  to  church  together, 
and  you  must  tell  me  all  about  those  charming 
Kanakas  you  are  so  fond  of.  I  am  always  in- 
terested in  blacks  and  missionaries." 

Miss  O'Rell's  plain  countenance  grew  plainer. 

"They  say,"  she  observed,  "that  man  is  born 
to  teach  and  be  taught,  and  I  suppose  that  is  why 
the  missionaries  are  sent  to  the  blacks  and  the 
blacks  to  the  missionaries;  first  they  cultivate, 
then  they  eat  each  other." 

"Oh,  my  dear  Miss  O'Rell,  what  a  gloomy 
view  to  take  of  mission  work,"  said  Mrs.  Groot 
in  a  shocked  voice.  "I  was  reading  in  a  book 
a  few  days  ago  that  more  than  a  million  yards 


56  THE  ROMAN   ROAD 

of  striped  calico  was  sent  out  every  year  to 
heathen  lands.  So  encouraging,  don't  you 
think?" 

A  brisk  wind  blew  the  last  day  of  March  be- 
fore it  as  they  crossed  the  park.  The  trees  flung 
their  bare  branches  skyward,  the  stately  cedars 
alone  remaining  equable  and  unmoved.  Mrs. 
Groot  threw  a  quick  glance  at  Jean,  who  was 
walking  with  Roland  and  Wantage,  and,  noting 
that  the  girl  was  still  within  earshot,  slackened 
pace. 

"I  have  been  wondering,"  she  said,  turning  to 
Miss  O'Rell,  "whether  my  brother  left  dear 
Jean  well  provided  for.  In  Australia  people 
seem  to  be  either  very  lucky  or  the  reverse,  and 
it  is  so  necessary  nowadays  for  a  girl  to  have 
money." 

Jean  had  an  income  of  about  three  thousand 
pounds,  but  Miss  O'Rell,  if  she  were  aware  of 
the  fact,  did  not  impart  her  knowledge  to  Mrs. 
Groot. 

"Jean,"  she  observed,  "has  always  her  face 
to  fall  back  on." 


THE   ROMAN   ROAD  57 

Mrs.  Groot  was  not  a  mercenary  woman,  but 
she  was  disappointed  in  her  niece. 

"A  pretty  face,"  she  answered  almost  sharply, 
"is  worse  than  useless; — it  encourages  flirtation 
but  does  not  compel  marriage." 

"There  is  no  reason  why  Jean  should  marry," 
remarked  Miss  O'Rell.  "If  she  is  careful  she 
can  get  on  quite  comfortably  without  a  hus- 
band." 

The  conversation  languished.  Mrs.  Groot 
never  discussed  the  husband  question  with  old 
maids.  She  felt  that  for  the  married  to  do  so 
was  like  the  full  discoursing  to  the  empty  on 
the  subject  of  dinner, — the  argument  on  both 
sides  would  be  biassed  by  circumstance. 

"Ah  here,"  she  exclaimed,  as  Wantage 
stopped  to  hold  open  the  gate,  "is  our  Roman 
Road.  Dear  me,  how  ugly  and  straight  it  looks. 
I  always  dislike  straight  things." 

"Don't  abuse  the  road,  mother,"  said  Wan- 
tage. "It  is  fine  company  on  a  dark  night." 

"My  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Groot,  "I  never 
walk  in  the  dark,  I  always  drive." 


68  THE   ROMAN   ROAD 

Jean  glanced  back.  "What  a  fascinating 
fashion  of  going  through  life,  Aunt  Emily. 
Keep  a  coach  and  four  always  at  hand;  then 
when  things  look  gloomy,  in  one  hops.  Heigh 
— presto — and  one  is  again  in  the  light." 

At  this  moment  the  two  Miss  Skiffingtons 
drove  up  on  their  way  to  church.  They  stopped 
the  big  yellow  barouche  and  offered  Mrs.  Groot 
a  lift.  She  accepted  and  the  carriage  went  on. 
The  Miss  Skiffingtons  were  middle-aged  women 
whose  great-uncle  had  been  one  of  Nelson's 
favourite  captains.  This  relationship,  so  remote 
in  time  and  affinity,  still  cast  a  glow  over  the  lives 
and  conversation  of  the  two  ladies,  both  as  it 
were  being  indirectly  fed  from  the  same  source. 
Mrs.  Groot,  who  cherished  her  neighbour's 
weaknesses  with  a  tender  hand,  delighted  in 
dropping  harmless  bits  of  bait  into  the  pleasant 
stream  which  flowed  beneath  the  Skiffington 
family  tree,  and  this  she  did  as  much  for  the 
sake  of  the  plump  fish  which  gobbled  the  food 
up  and  then  swam  unhooked  away  as  for  her 
own  amusement. 


THE   ROMAN   ROAD  59 

"Dear  Miss  Skiffington,"  she  exclaimed, 
"what  a  delightful  breeze.  How  welcome  it 
would  have  been  to  Sir  Richard  when  he  chased 
the  French  Admiral." 

She  alluded  to  Nelson's  stern  hunt  from  the 
shores  of  the  Mediterranean  half  round  the  globe 
after  Villeneuve  in  which  the  Superb  under 
the  command  of  Captain  Skiffington  had  set  the 
pace  by  proving  herself  the  slowest  vessel  in  the 
fleet;  and  this  the  good  ship  had  done  from  no 
fault  of  her  own,  for  the  poor  thing,  barnacling 
her  way  through  the  sea-weedy  water,  knew  well 
that  she  ought  at  the  time  to  be  safe  in  dock 
having  her  bottom  scraped  so  as  to  be  in  good 
fighting  trim  for  Trafalgar,  but  rather  had  the 
ship  been  forced  to  join  in  this  useless  chase 
through  the  ardour  of  her  commander,  who, 
man-like,  hated  to  lose  touch  with  the  enemy. 

Miss  Skiffington  glowed.  She  had  never  been 
able  to  understand  what  so  many  people  found 
to  dislike  in  Mrs.  Groot, — UA  fine  sincere 
woman,"  she  called  her. 

"How  curious  you  should  make  mention  of 


60  THE   ROMAN   EOAD 

that  particular  voyage/'  she  answered.  "It  was 
only  last  night  I  was  reading  an  account  of  it 
in  Captain  Mahan's  book." 

The  church,  for  a  reason  long  lost  in  the  mists 
of  the  past,  stood  on  a  hill  some  three-quarters 
of  a  mile  beyond  Groot  village;  as  the  yellow- 
wheeled  barouche  rolled  slowly  up  the  steep  in- 
cline it  passed  a  high  pointed  white  stone  which 
marked  where  the  Groot  property  ended  and 
that  of  Blaize  began.  Miss  Skiffington's  manner 
stiffened,  and  she  glanced  at  her  sister  Miss 
Maria  to  see  if  her  attitude  was  one  of  equal 
correctness.  Miss  Maria,  however,  who  be- 
longed by  nature  to  an  amorphous  class  consti- 
tutionally incapable  of  forming  up  into  any 
shape,  looked  smilingly  round. 

"Dear  me,"  she  remarked,  "here  we  are  at 
Blaize.  Did  the  Bevans  return  our  call?  I  al- 
ways forget." 

The  Bevans,  people  of  no  extraction  but  much 
wealth, — which  latter,  if  report  spoke  the  truth, 
had  been  smoked  in  some  fashion  out  of  bloat- 
ers,— had  lately  bought  Blaize.  Their  coming 


THE  EOMAN  KOAD  61 

had  put  Miss  Skiffington,  a  stickler  for  birth, 
into  a  cup  and  ball  of  two  minds  whether  to  call 
on  them  or  no ;  but  moved  perhaps  by  the  thought 
that  a  bloater  once  in  the  form  of  herring  swam 
in  the  sea  and  thus  established  an  indirect  claim 
upon  her  hospitality,  Miss  Skiffington  had  or- 
dered out  the  yellow  barouche  and  driven  Miss 
Maria  over  to  Blaize.  From  this  point  any  less 
far-seeing  than  Providence  might  well  have  ex- 
pected things  to  work  smoothly ;  but  the  Bevans 
were  out  and  when  on  making  inquiries  they 
found  that  the  Miss  Skiffingtons  were  poor,  mid- 
dle-aged and  did  not  entertain,  they  failed  to 
return  their  visit,  contenting  themselves  with 
sending  a  footman  round  to  the  Miss  Skiffing- 
tons' back  door  with  a  card.  Such  conduct  might 
well  leave  an  indelible  mark  on  any  woman's 
mind,  but  human  nature,  Groot  observed  over 
its  beer,  has  fences  that  the  Almighty  couldn't 
cross,  and  while  the  elder  Miss  Skiffington  had 
been  constituted  so  that  she  could  not  forget  a 
slight,  Miss  Maria  had  so  been  fashioned  that 
she  could  not  remember  one.  For  her  sister's 


62  THE   ROMAN  ROAD 

sake  she  honestly  tried  but  never  could  recollect 
whether  the  Bevans  had  or  had  not  returned  the 
call,  and  always  ended  by  recollecting  wrong. 
Miss  Maria's  question  had  bare  time  to  settle 
acidly  down  in  her  sister's  stomach  before  the 
yellow-wheeled  barouche  drew  up  at  the  lych- 
gate  and  Miss  Skiffington,  gathering  her  skirts 
together,  stepped  out  to  make  her  weekly  call 
upon  the  Almighty. 


CHAPTER  V 

CLEAN  as  thought  from  a  wholesome  mind 
came  the  echo  of  the  axe  from  the  Long  Walk. 
The  tall  trees  trembled  in  all  their  length  before 
this  autocrat  of  the  forest.  Oaks  long  and  lean, 
short  and  stout,  lay  stripped  across  the  earth, 
paying  the  penalty  of  life  with  death.  Roland 
watched  the  men  at  their  work  and  wondered 
why  he  did  not  call  upon  them  to  put  up  their 
tools  and  seek  orders  from  another  master. 
Usurpation  after  all  was  mere  child's-play.  A 
silent  tongue  and  the  kingdom  remained  your 
own.  Looking  up  he  saw  Jean. 

"What  constitutes  a  right  to  a  thing?"  he 
asked.  "The  need?" 

"Has  a  need  ever  been  fitted  yet?"  she  re- 
turned. 

"Give  a  starving  man  food." 

"And  his  need  grows  as  he  eats." 
63 


64  THE  KOMAN  ROAD 

"Yet,"  said  Roland,  "it  is  no  crime  to  wish 
to  live." 

"I  suppose  not,"  she  answered,  "yet  above  a 
certain  price  it  perhaps  becomes  a  luxury  and 
economists  ban  luxury." 

"Why  do  they  ban  it?" 

"Is  it  not  supposed  to  be  barren,  or  at  best 
to  bring  in  no  adequate  return?" 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  and  found  them 
beautiful.  "Suppose,"  he  argued,  "I  took  money 
which  was  not  my  own  and  spent  it  well,  for  the 
benefit  of  others.  What  then?" 

"Well,  perhaps  many  people  would  lose  by 
that,  you  for  instance." 

"Why?" 

"Would  you  not  be  wasting  your  time  making 
ropes  of  sand?  The  money  would  not  be  yours 
and  you  could  not  make  it  yours." 

He  laughed  harshly.  "Why  should  that 
trouble  me  ?  It  is  not  what  one  does  that  matters, 
but  what  one  is  supposed  to  do.  Verisimilitude 
is  the  thing.  Why  run  one's  self  lame  after  truth 
when  one  can  get  her  likeness  cheap  by  sitting 
still?" 


THE  ROMAN   KOAD  65 

"We  answered  that  question  long  ago  by  not 
running  after  truth,"  Jean  replied,  sweeping 
away  some  chips  with  her  foot.  "I  don't  think 
that  any  of  us  care  much  for  truth.  Do  you?" 

"And  yet  we  can  all  be  hard  on  a  liar." 

She  looked  at  his  harsh,  worn  face.  "Yes," 
she  admitted,  "we  cannot  forgive  ourselves.  I 
have  often  wondered  why  we  are  so  hard  on 
ourselves.  We  know  better  than  others  how 
slaying  was  the  temptation;  and  still — Roland, 
why  is  it  that  we  cannot  forgive  ourselves?" 

He  was  not  conscious  of  having  meant  that, 
yet  he  half  guessed  that  she  read  him  better 
than  he  did  himself. 

"Jean,"  he  said,  "tell  me  the  reason  you  will 
not  judge  between  me  and  the  village?" 

The  blood  swept  warmly  from  her  throat  to 
her  brow.  "It  is  not  between  you  and  the  village 
that  I  refuse  to  judge.  I  do  not  judge,  that 
is  all." 

"You  must  judge,  but  why  do  you  withhold 
sentence?" 

She  laughed  uneasily.     "It  doesn't  please  me 


66  THE  EOMAN   KOAD 

to  fit  other  people's  feet  into  my  boots,"  she  said. 
"Besides,  I  am  like  the  blacks,  and  have  a  set 
formula  to  resolve  all  riddles." 

"What  is  this  formula?" 

"Why  should  I  tell  it  you?" 

"Because,"  he  said  in  his  grating  voice,  "the 
time  has  come  for  you  to  tell  it." 

Still  she  remained  silent. 

He  drew  closer  to  her.  "Tell  me,"  he  com- 
manded harshly. 

She  half  smiled;  she  was  so  free  not  to  tell 
him  unless  she  chose  to  do  so. 

"I  have  a  foolish  little  belief,"  she  answered, 
"that  only  God  can  look  down,  and  yet  perceive? 
and  that  all  we  can  do  is  to  look  about  us,  and 
perhaps  sometimes  look  up." 

Roland  did  not  reply;  he  was  thinking  of  his 
mother.  He  would  not  deceive  himself;  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  keep  Groot;  and  he  knew 
that  his  mother  had  foreseen  his  decision  from 
the  first. 

"She  at  least  had  never  mistaken  her  man," 
he  thought  bitterly;  yet  even  as  the  thought 


THE  ROMAN  EOAD  67 

passed  through  his  mind  it  found  there  a  subtle 
and  growing  belief  that  Jean  also  understood 
him. 

They  strolled  along  the  walk  till  it  split  into 
two  paths.  Jean  returned  to  the  house,  and  he 
crossing  the  park  came  to  the  Roman  Road,  and 
the  sight  of  the  great  onward-cleaving,  straight- 
going  road  filled  him  with  inexpressible  bitter- 
ness. Suddenly  Wantage  appeared  from  behind 
the  trees. 

"There  is  no  over-weight  about  you,  old 
man,"  he  remarked  facetiously. 

Roland's  dark  face  darkened  as  a  wave  of 
angry  blood  swept  across  it.  He  had  never  liked 
Wantage,  now  he  loathed  him. 

"Two  brainy  men  in  the  same  family  would 
be  superfluous,"  he  answered. 

Wantage  passed  the  remark  over. 

"Baker  tells  me  there  is  a  fresh  case  of  fever 
in  that  sodden  clump  of  houses  you  aptly  name 
Rotten  Row,"  he  observed. 

"Thanks  for  the  warning,  but  I  had  no  inten- 
tion of  exposing  myself.  By  the  way,"  con- 


68  THE  EOMAN  EOAD 

tinued  Roland,  glancing  at  his  brother,  "may  I 
ask  if  that  curious  hirsute  appendage  you  wear 
under  your  chin  is  a  beard  or  a  new  style  of  East 
End  comforter?" 

This  remark  had  the  quite  unwarrantable 
effect  of  pleasing  Wantage.  "I  am  glad  you 
mentioned  that,"  he  said.  "I  wanted  your  opin- 
ion. Do  you  think  I  should  look  better  if  I  clean 
shaved?" 

"Your  style  of  appearance  is  so  peculiarly  your 
own,  perhaps  you  set  a  value  on  it." 

"Well,  I  know  one  or  two  fellows  who  wear 
this  kind  of  beard,"  replied  Wantage,  running 
his  fingers  softly  over  his  chin. 

"Yankee  chimney-sweeps,  I  presume." 

"I'll  get  Johnstone  to  take  it  off  for  me." 

"Ah  do,  he  knows  where  the  brandy  and  sodas 
are  kept  if  the  task  should  prove  too  much  for 
his  feelings."  Roland  turned  away  and  saw  with 
heightened  annoyance  his  mother  and  Miss 
O'Rell  coming  slowly  over  the  grass. 

Wantage  caught  sight  of  them  at  the  same 
moment.  He  disliked  Miss  O'Rell,  but  her 


THE  ROMAN   ROAD  69 

clothes  always  gave  him  that  fine  confidence  in 
his  own,  which  is  the  most  striking  garment  of 
the  well-dressed  man.  The  situation  was  so  full 
of  subtle  flattery  that  he  waited  a  moment,  his 
eyes  full  on  Miss  O'Rell.  "I  will  leave  you  now 
to  play  the  part  of  host,"  he  said  and  then  smil- 
ingly withdrew. 

"My  dear  Roland,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Groot, 
"how  fortunate  we  should  meet  you  just  now. 
I  have  persuaded  Miss  O'Rell  to  pay  a  visit  to 
our  picturesque  village  and  you  shall  act  as 
guide." 

Roland  beckoned  to  an  old  man,  who  was 
creeping  heavily  along  the  road. 

"Jakes,"  he  said,  "this  lady  wishes  to  see  the 
village.  What  would  you  recommend  to  her 
notice  first?" 

The  man  pulled  a  rust-coloured  forelock. 

"Well,  Sir  Roland,  if  'twas  yourself  now,  I 
wouldn't  ax  'ee  to  look  further  than  the  roof  o' 
my  cottage,  or  maybe  I'd  bide  content  if  you 
was  to  put  a  patch  or  two  on  the  pig-sty,  for 
my  old  sow  has  most  wore  herself  out  standing 


70  THE  ROMAN   KOAD 

under  water-spouts,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  dilap- 
idated cottage  and  shed  some  little  distance  down 
the  road. 

"Is  that  a  pig-sty?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Groot, 
nodding  her  head  at  the  cottage.  "Covered,  I 
see,  with  Virginian  creeper.  Why,  your  pig 
must  be  charmed  with  her  quarters." 

"Saving  your  presence,  ma'am,  for  seeming 
to  contradict  you,"  Jakes  answered,  "but  my  old 
sow  ain't  no  artist;  her  never  that  I  knows  by 
saw  more'n  one  picture  in  her  life,  and  that  her 
made  bold  to  eat  up.  It  was  a  good  picture 
enough,  I've  heard  tell,  as  such  trash  goes,  but 
the  old  sow  was  wonderful  cautious  in  her  feedr 
ing  for  some  days  afterwards." 

"I  should  think,"  remarked  Miss  O'Rell, 
"that  this  village  is  full  of  sickness." 

"Law  bless  'ee,  ma'am,"  returned  Jakes, 
pushing  his  hat  back  to  run  his  fingers  through 
his  hair,  "  'tis  as  full  of  sickness  as  an  apple  of 
wasps;  measles  over  to  there,  whooping-cough 
over  to  there,  but  lawks,  you'll  find  they  in  every 
village.  Them  houses  which  lie  low  like  be  full 


THE  ROMAN   ROAD  71 

of  marsh  fever;  us  wouldn't  complain  o'  that, 
if  the  houses  was  weather-tight,  which,  saving  Sir 
Roland's  presence,  they  none  o'  them  is.  Why, 
Lord  love  'ee,  there  isn't  one  o'  us  that  dares 
to  sit  two  nights  running  in  the  same  spot,  us 
wud  get  all  over  mildew  for  certain."  And 
Jakes,  with  the  light  of  words  running  up  his 
front  and  down  his  back,  turned  and  glowed 
warmly  into  Mrs.  Groot's  face.  She  withdrew 
herself. 

"I  think,  Jakes,"  she  said,  in  a  cold,  metallic 
voice,  "you  poor  people  never  know  when  you 
are  well  off." 

A  dull,  stolid  scorn  came  into  the  old  labourer's 
face.  "Maybe  not,  ma'am,"  he  said  and  touch- 
ing his  hat  went  on  his  road. 

Mrs.  Groot  turned  quickly  away  from  the 
bent,  retreating  figure.  She  had  an  instinctive 
dislike  of  the  working  classes,  their  needs  were 
so  hideously  genuine.  Intercourse  with  them 
was  much  the  same  as  gathering  a  handful  of 
earth  instead  of  flowers.  She  offered  the  flowers 
and  they  in  return  pelted  her  with  barren  soil. 


72  THE   EOMAN   EOAD 

"Dear  Miss  O'Rell,"  she  said,  "I  have  such 
a  dreadful  headache.  I  am  sure  you  will  forgive 
my  leaving  it  to  Roland  to  play  the  part  of 
cicerone.  He  will  be  able  to  tell  you  all  the 
little  ins  and  outs,  the  village  requires  so  much 
explaining,  though  it  is  a  dear,  picturesque  place 
and  I  am  always  glad  to  remember  that  it  is  our 
very  own  to  do  what  we  like  with."  Nodding 
gaily  Mrs.  Groot  turned  away.  At  the  last  bend 
in  the  path  she  stopped  and  waved  a  minute 
handkerchief  as  if  she  wished  to  encourage  her 
son  and  guest  on  to  the  task  in  front  of  them. 

"Are  you  interested  in  the  village?"  asked 
Roland  in  a  morose  voice. 

Miss  O'Rell  smiled  grimly.  "To  be  frank 
with  you,  I  am  not,"  she  answered.  He  laughed 
out  harsh  and  sudden.  "It  will  soon  rot  into  the 
earth,"  he  said.  A  heron  rose  from  the  marsh 
and  sailed  off,  its  long  legs  scribbling  the  sky. 
Miss  O'Rell  watched  the  bird's  flight. 

"And  the  herons  Will  build  where  it  once 
stood,"  she  added. 

"You  do  it  too  much  honour  if  you  think  such 


THE  ROMAN   ROAD  73 

birds  would  choose  so  damnable  a  spot  to  nest 
in,"  he  corrected.  UA  heron  loves  to  build  in 
the  high  branches  of  the  trees." 

"No  matter,"  she  put  in,  "the  grass  and  reeds 
will  trample  it  down." 

He  turned  to  the  plain- faced  elderly  woman; 
she  seemed  the  first  comrade  he  had  met  to  his 
taste  these  many  days.  "You  hate  it,"  he  said, 
"as  if  it  were  a  rotting  body;  but  I  hate  it  as 
if  it  were  a  rotting  soul." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  moonlight  slipped  between  the  big  cedar 
trees  of  Groot;  while  from  the  hill  above  the 
village  the  church  clock  drummed  out  twelve. 
Roland,  leaning  over  the  billiard  table,  sending 
the  balls  merrily  clicking  this  way  and  that,  heard 
the  tally  of  the  hours  called,  and  the  whole 
twelve  like  twelve  watchmen  go  marching  away 
into  silence.  Then  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs, 
Groot  entered.  Her  son  did  not  turn.  He  did 
not  feel  as  if  there  was  another  presence  in  the 
room;  he  felt  that  the  evil  in  himself  was  aug- 
mented: for  there  are  moments  when  the  hard 
and  fast  lines  that  separate  individuals  melt 
away,  and  the  body  ceases  to  be  an  isolating 
station  to  the  spirit:  moments  when  we  cannot 
take  refuge  in  ourselves,  for  we  are  one  with 
another  in  weird,  mysterious  union. 

Mrs.  Groot  moved  slowly  across  the  room. 
74 


THE   KOMAN   ROAD  75 

"I  am  tired,  but  disinclined  for  bed,"  she  re- 
marked, and  curled  herself  comfortably  upon  a 
couch.  Something  in  her  movements  reminded 
him  of  a  snake  and  he  shuddered.  "Things  are 
very  perverse,  Roland,"  she  continued.  "Now, 
if  Jean  had  money  she  might  marry  Wantage." 

This  conjecture,  as  unexpected  as  disagree- 
able, kept  Roland  for  a  moment  to  silence,  then 
he  looked  at  his  mother  to  see  if  she  was  in 
earnest.  "A  fine  opening  for  Jean,"  he  said. 

"I  am  afraid  I  was  not  thinking  of  her  but 
of  her  money.  It  would  have  been  useful.  It 
might  even  have  solved  all  the  difficulties. 
Something  must  be  done  for  the  village  and  done 


at  once." 


Roland  frowned  down  on  his  cue,  which  he 
chalked  and  rechalked.  The  desire  filled  him 
to  bring  his  mother  to  heel  and  then  to  crush 
her.  "Let  us  be  simple,"  he  said  at  last,  "and 
acknowledge  that  if  I  don't  do  it  no  one  will." 

She  disregarded  the  innuendo.  "You  will  do 
it  then?"  she  replied. 

"I  did  not  say  so." 


76  THE   ROMAN   KOAD 

"Yet  you  must  admit  that  is  the  only  hon- 
ourable course  open  to  you." 

"My  dear  mother,  honour  does  not  come  into 
this  affair  at  all.  If  I  consent  to  keep  the  prop- 
erty, I  shall  do  so  because  I  wish  to  marry." 

Mrs.  Groot  sat  bolt  upright.  "Marry,"  she 
repeated  in  a  shrill  tone,  "who  do  you  wish  to 
marry?" 

"Jean."  Till  that  moment  marriage  with 
Jean  had  not  presented  itself  to  him  as  contin- 
gently possible,  but  the  thought  once  uttered 
filled  up  the  whole  body  of  his  imagination. 

"Jean !"  cried  his  mother.  "A  girl  without  a 
farthing.  How  preposterous !" 

"I  admit  there  is  something  preposterous  in 
turning  thief  for  such  reason.  A  thief  might 
find  it  hard  to  commend  himself  to  Jean,  that  is, 
if  she  knew  he  was  a  thief;  but  then  you  see, 
mother,  she  will  not  know.  You  will  know,  but 
you  have  grown  accustomed  to  the  idea  of  having 
a  thief  for  a  son.  Indeed  we  might  almost  allow 
you  prefer  him  to  play  that  role  to  any  other." 

There  was  silence.     Mrs.  Groot,  white  and 


THE  ROMAN  EOAD  77 

trembling,  got  slowly  on  to  her  feet.  She 
walked  a  few  steps  and  took  hold  of  the  billiard 
table.  "Why,"  she  asked  in  a  low  voice,  "do 
you  insult  me,  Roland?" 

His  face  did  not  soften  but  grew  harder. 
"You  are  afraid  of  the  word  thief,"  he  said, 
"but  you  are  not  ashamed  of  the  thing  itself." 

"How  do  you  know  what  I  am  afraid  of?" 

"Have  I  not  watched  you  winding  in  and  out 
of  every  falsity  all  my  life?" 

She  tottered  backwards  and  sank  down  on  the 
sofa.  "But,  Roland,"  she  exclaimed,  piteously, 
"I  am  a  good  woman." 

Turning  to  the  billiard  table  he  made  half  a 
dozen  brilliant  cannons  and  then  laid  down  the 
cue.  "Mother,"  he  said,  "let  us  settle  this  mat- 
ter once  and  for  all.  Either  I  put  Wantage  in 
possession  of  the  truth  to-night  or  we  agree  that 
he  shall  never  know  it." 

Mrs.  Groot  sat  up.  "Supposing,"  she  re- 
marked, "I  agree  to  neither  proposition." 

"The  answer  is  simple,  I  go  to  Wantage  and 
tell  him  without  your  consent." 


78  THE   ROMAN   ROAD 

"You  are  very  harsh,"  she  said.     "I  wonder 

you  can  be  so." 

"Well,"  he  asked,  "which  is  it  to  be?" 
"You  are  forcing  me  to  do  wrong  so  that  you 

may    do    wrong    yourself   with    an    easy    con- 


science." 


He  laughed.  "Is  not  that  what  you  have  been 
trying  to  do  with  me?  But,"  he  added,  "we 
differ  in  this:  if  I  once  make  up  my  mind  to  be 
a  thief  you  may  be  certain  that  I  shall  not  allow 
conscience  to  spoil  me  of  my  profits." 

She  began  to  be  afraid  of  him.  "Roland," 
she  said,  "you  are  much  wickeder  than  I 
thought." 

"In  that  case  we  ought  to  strike  a  satisfactory 
bargain." 

"I  do  not  understand  you." 

"Oh,  it  is  quite  simple.  You  are  not  a  good 
woman,  and  I  am  not  a  good  man;  that  being 
so  we  should  come  to  terms." 

Mrs.  Groot  had  never  stripped  her  own  heart, 
and  to  see  the  poor  bleeding  thing  torn  ruthlessly 
from  its  coverings  by  her  son  paralysed  her. 


THE  ROMAN  KOAD  79 

She  began  to  cry,  not  for  effect,  but  because  her 
spirit  was  broken.  Unfortunately,  tears  had  so 
often  been  used  by  her  as  a  false  flag  of  truce 
that  the  mere  sight  of  them  infuriated  Roland. 
"Come,"  he  said,  uyou  capitulate  and  I  take  the 
property." 

She  gave  up  the  struggle.  "You  will  be  fair, 
Roland,"  she  exclaimed  feebly.  "You  will  re- 
build the  village.  You  will  do  all  you  can 
for  it." 

"Damn  the  village,"  he  said.  "I'll  pay  my 
debts,  and — "  he  stopped  short;  he  could  not 
bring  Jean's  name  into  the  hideous  dispute. 

"You  are  not  yourself.  You  do  not  mean 
what  you  say,"  Mrs.  Groot  exclaimed,  rising  to 
her  feet. 

"Unfortunately  for  you  I  was  never  more  in 
earnest." 

She  dropped  her  hands  to  her  sides :  "I  can- 
not struggle  with  you  to-night." 

"No,"  he  said,  "and  you  never  will,  you  have 
not  the  moral  courage."  He  opened  the  door, 
she  went  out.  "I've  built  on  that  fact,"  he  cried 


80  THE   KOMAN   KOAD 

after  her.  "I'm  not  your  son  for  nothing." 
Then  he  closed  the  door. 

"I  am  a  thief,"  he  remarked  aloud.  "I  must 
drink  my  own  health."  He  fetched  the  whisky, 
half  filled  a  tumbler  and  drank  it.  "Not  stiff 
enough,"  he  said  and  took  another  glass.  "A 
man  who  has  just  come  into  a  fine  property  ought 
to  be  more  exhilarated,"  and  he  took  a  third. 
"I  feel  better,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  must  finish 
the  bottle." 

The  next  morning  a  housemaid  found  him 
drunk  upon  the  floor.  He  was  put  to  bed  and 
the  servants'  hall  decided  to  keep  a  silent  tongue. 
There  are  advantages  attached  to  being  a  fa- 
vourite below  stairs. 

Among  the  letters  Mrs.  Groot  found  on  her 
breakfast  tray  that  morning  was  one  from  the 
Ragstocks  asking  her  to  Topham  Park.  Lord 
Ragstock,  a  distant  cousin  of  Mrs.  Groot's,  was 
a  cultivated  man  afflicted  with  an  incurable  need 
of  yawning, — so  that  he  no  sooner  talked  a  way 
into  a  man's  good  graces  than  he  yawned  himself 
out  again,  and  all  this  with  the  best  feeling  in 


THE  ROMAN   ROAD  81 

the  world,  being  as  anxious  to  please  in  retreat 
as  in  advance. 

Topham  Park  lay  about  five  miles  distant 
across  a  low  range  of  hills.  Mrs.  Groot,  glad  of 
an  excuse  for  a  few  days'  absence,  drove  over  the 
same  afternoon.  The  affair,  however,  miscar- 
ried. Lady  Ragstock,  as  hospitable  a  woman 
as  could  be  met  in  the  county,  suffered  from  pro- 
longed fits  of  absence  of  mind,  and  Mrs.  Groot 
happening  to  put  in  a  maladroit  appearance  at 
just  such  a  period,  Lady  Ragstock,  after  ru- 
minatingly  regarding  her  guest,  ordered  the 
horses  and  drove  her  straight  home  again.  This 
unwarrantable  piece  of  good-nature  so  tickled 
Mrs.  Groot  that  it  provided  her  with  more  dis- 
traction than  fifty  visits  less  ably  engineered. 
It  had  been  well  said  that  between  Ragstock  and 
Ragstock's  wife  a  man  might  be  sure  of  a  good 
meal. 

The  first  person  Mrs.  Groot  chanced  on  after 
her  return  was  Jean.  There  was  something  so 
fresh,  young,  and  altogether  charming  about  the 
girl's  appearance  that  Mrs.  Groot  was  surprised 


82  THE   ROMAN   KOAD 

at  the  blind  stupidity  which  had  hitherto  pre- 
vented her  from  seeing  the  use  such  good  ma- 
terial might  be  put  to,  and  she  straightway  de- 
termined to  neglect  opportunities  no  longer.  A 
flash  of  insight  having  thus  lit  up  a  new  path 
to  success  Mrs.  Groot  glowed  all  over  with  a 
generous  appreciation  of  another  woman's  good 
points. 

"My  dearest  Jean,"  she  said,  "what  a  delight- 
fully pretty  face  you  have  and  how  little  I  see 
of  it.  Come  in  here  and  let  us  have  a  good  talk." 
She  drew  the  girl  into  a  small  oval-shaped  sit- 
ting-room where  the  chairs  were  more  than 
usually  comfortable  and  the  light  soft  and  un- 
obtrusive. Pushing  a  chair  nearer  the  fire  for 
Jean,  she  lay  down  herself  upon  a  couch.  "I 
was  not  aware  I  was  so  tired,"  she  added, 
stretching  out  and  pointing  her  feet.  "Tired 
and  worn  and  I  suppose  dying,  yet  glad  that  I  am 
still  alive.  That's  what  I  am,  Jean.  It  sounds 
rather  a  sad  little  tale.  Doesn't  it?" 

Jean  took  one  of  the  fragile  hands  in  hers  and 
caressed  it  gently,  but  she  made  no  comment. 


THE  ROMAN  ROAD  83 

"This  life  is  full  of  responsibility,"  continued 
Mrs.  Groot,  closing  her  eyes,  "and  responsibility 
is  killing  me.  I  don't  want  responsibility,  Jean. 
I  never  asked  for  it.  It  is  heaped  on  me,  I  am 
smothered  beneath  the  thing.  I  cannot  breathe. 
Oh,  I  wish  I  could  throw  my  responsibilities 
away  and  be  done  with  them  for  ever.  Heaven, 
Jean,  is  a  place  where  our  acts  will  have  no  con- 
sequence; we  shall  be  happy  in  doing  or  not 
doing,  that  is  all."  She  was  silent  a  moment. 
"Fancy,  if  I  found  another  Groot  village  in 
Heaven.  Why,  I  should  be  almost  better  off 
in  hell.  No  (emphatically),  nothing  so  dis- 
agreeable could  happen." 

"You  all  seem  troubled  about  the  village,"  re- 
marked Jean  after  a  pause.  "Yet  I  do  not  see 
why  Roland  should  be  expected  to  do  in  a  few 
short  months  what  Sir  Theophilus  was  content 
to  leave  undone  for  years." 

"My  dear  Jean,  Roland  will  do  nothing, 
nothing.  He  is  content  to  take  the  money  and 
spend  it  in  paying  his  own  debts." 

"I  suppose  till  his  debts  are  paid  he  would 


84  THE  ROMAN   ROAD 

not  be  justified  in  spending  money  on  the 
village." 

Mrs.  Groot  sat  up.  "The  matter  is  far  more 
complicated  than  you  can  have  any  idea  of.  I 
will  say  this,  and  Roland  if  he  were  here  could 
not  deny  its  truth.  The  estate  was  left  to  him 
on  the  provision  that  the  village  should  be  put 
into  good  repair." 

"I  thought,"  replied  Jean  slowly,  drawing  a 
little  further  away  as  she  spoke,  "that  the  estate 
was  entailed." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  said  Mrs.  Groot,  and 
then  realising  that  she  had  embarked  on  a  course 
of  untruth,  looked  about  for  something  to  deepen 
the  water.  "Of  course,  Jean,  you  understand 
that  I  am  telling  you  this  in  confidence." 

Jean  got  up.  "I  feel,  Aunt  Emily,  as  if  I 
would  rather  not  know  these  things." 

Mrs.  Groot  rose  also.  "You  must  know 
them,"  she  exclaimed  excitedly,  "for  only 
through  your  coming  to  know  of  them  can  they 
be  remedied." 

"I  do  not  understand." 


THE   ROMAN   EOAD  85 

"You  must  influence  him  to  do  right." 

"How  could  I  presume  that  I  have  the  in- 
fluence?" 

Jean's  mental  attitude  brought  a  smile  to  Mrs. 
G  root's  face.  "Surely  you  are  woman  enough  to 
know  that  Roland  loves  you." 

The  girl  grew  curiously  still  and  cold.  "I 
think,  Aunt  Emily,"  she  said,  "that  we  both 
exceed  our  rights  in  discussing  this  matter  at 
all." 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Groot  with  im- 
patience, "wrong  would  never  be  righted  if 
every  one  behaved  after  that  fashion." 

"You  say,"  Jean  answered,  driven  into  a  cor- 
ner, "that  the  estate  was  left  to  him  provisionally ; 
well,  if  he  does  not  observe  the  provision  he  loses 
the  estate;  we  must  allow  him  to  be  the  best 
judge  of  his  own  interests." 

Mrs.  Groot  sighted  the  goal  she  had  been 
making  for,  and  lowered  her  voice.  "The  pro- 
vision would  not  be  held  binding  in  a  court  of 
law,  only  in  a  court  of  honour" 

Jean  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  across 


86  THE  ROMAN  KOAD 

the  park  towards  Groot  village.  Poor  rotting, 
cursed  thing,  every  one  hated  it,  even  she  had 
come  to  hate  it  with  the  rest. 

"Well?"  questioned  Mrs.  Groot  harshly. 

"I  cannot  interfere,"  said  Jean,  and  went  out. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  April  sun  beamed  big,  and  Mrs.  Groot 
sat  down  beneath  a  tree  to  needle  a  wisp  of  noth- 
ing into  a  shirt  for  a  girl's  first  baby.  So  soft 
and  fine  was  the  garment  it  would  have  had 
one  believe  that  the  mystery  of  sex  was  about 
to  put  on  flesh  and  walk  the  earth  in  a  gossamer 
ephod.  The  very  breeze,  shamed  out  of  inquisi- 
tiveness,  lifted  up  a  fold  only  to  let  it  fall  back 
again  into  secrecy,  but  Mrs.  Groot,  having  long 
since  as  it  were  made  a  thumb-nail  sketch  of 
motherhood,  whisked  the  little  shirt  this  way  and 
that,  laid  it  on  its  face,  unripped  a  gusset,  re- 
modelled a  hem  and  proved  for  the  millionth 
time  that  the  masculine  heart  alone  knows  rev- 
erence. Mrs.  Groot  glanced  about  her  and 
frowned.  She  was  disappointed  with  men  and 
women  in  general  and  Roland  and  Jean  in  par- 
ticular. There  was  something  cruel,  she  felt,  in 

87 


88  THE  EOMAN   EOAD 

the  way  they  had  failed  to  rescue  her  from  the 
grip  of  circumstance,  the  more  so  because  her 
heart  told  her  that  had  the  position  been  reversed 
she  would  not  have  deserted  them.  Picturing 
to  herself  the  lengths  she  would  have  gone  to 
fish  Jean  out  of  a  muddy  ditch  set  Mrs.  Groot 
glowing  with  generous  warmth ;  and  yet  the  same 
Jean  had  refused  to  raise  a  finger  to  help  her 
sadly  soused  aunt  to  land. 

"We  can't  all  be  generous,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Groot  aloud;  ubut  we  might  all  be  more  gener- 
ous than  we  are."  At  this  moment  she  happened 
to  catch  sight  of  Wantage  and  her  mind  em- 
barking on  a  different  course  brought  a  smile  to 
her  lips ;  having  arrived  so  far  it  washed  her  to 
shore  with  a  sense  of  almost  renewed  security. 

"Mother,"  exclaimed  Wantage,  caressing  a 
smooth  chin,  "Johnstone  has  just  taken  off  my 
beard.  Do  you  find  me  improved?" 

Mrs.  Groot  looked  at  her  son ;  his  face,  much 
as  a  badly  placed  pin,  put  her  in  mind  of  the  past. 
She  was  astonished  at  his  likeness  to  her  dead 
husband. 


THE  ROMAN   ROAD  89 

"Dear  boy,"  she  said,  "it  is  long  since  I  saw 
you  look  so  well."  And  then,  struck  by  the  un- 
expected truth  of  her  own  remark,  she  was  sur- 
prised into  a  fit  of  motherly  interest.  "Really, 
Wantage,"  she  exclaimed,  "it  might  almost  be 
worth  your  while  to  dress  better." 

This  somewhat  two-edged  compliment  went 
straight  home.  Wantage  beamed. 

"Why,"  he  asked,  sitting  down  beside  her, 
"should  I  not  give  Roland's  tailor  a  turn?" 

Overcome  with  surprise  Mrs.  Groot  could 
scarce  unravel  the  situation.  "My  dear,"  she 
expostulated  after  a  pause,  "but  he  is  very 
expensive." 

Wantage  gazed  blushingly  down  the  calf  of 
his  leg,  shamed  it  may  be  by  the  ill-shaped 
limb. 

"Supposing,"  he  said,  "that  the  man  whistles 
for  his  money?" 

For  the  life  of  her  Mrs.  Groot  could  not  keep 
from  laughing.  She  laughed  and  laughed, 
wiped  her  eyes  and  laughed  again.  Wantage, 
who  all  his  life  had  been  more  laughed  at  than 


90  THE   ROMAN   ROAD 

laughed  with,  saw  that  the  merriment  was  not 
ill-natured  and  took  it  smiling.  A  sudden  no- 
tion blunted  the  edge  of  Mrs.  Groot's  mirth. 
She  might  yet  live  to  make  Wantage  master  of 
Groot.  It  was  the  second  time  that  day  the  idea 
had  crossed  her  mind  and  she  relapsed  into  se- 
riousness. "When  I  am  dead,"  she  thought, 
"what  does  it  matter  if  people  do  say  ill-natured 
things?  They  can't  hurt  me.  I  sha'n't  hear 
them."  Raising  her  eyes  she  looked  at  her  son 
with  unusual  interest.  His  face  was  neither  in- 
telligent or  well-bred,  but  it  was  not  a  stupid 
or  an  unpleasant  face;  she  could  even  imagine 
some  women  being  attracted  by  it.  A  glance  at 
the  figure  corrected  her  estimate  of  the  man.  It 
was  as  hopelessly  bad  a  figure  as  his  father's 
had  been  before  him, — sloping  shoulders,  big 
hips,  knees  bent  inwards. 

"Only  an  adventuress  or  a  good  woman  would 
marry  a  man  with  that  figure,"  was  her  mental 
exclamation. 

Wantage,  quite  unaware  that  he  was  being 
weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  wanting,  now 


THE   ROMAN   EOAD  91 

interposed.  "Mother,"  he  said,  "there  are  some 
patterns  in  the  smoking-room  which  Roland  had 
down  from  his  tailor  this  morning.  Shall  I 
fetch  them?" 

She  did  not  want  to  hurt  his  feelings,  still 
could  not  but  realise  that  his  hopes  were  fore- 
doomed to  disappointment.  "Yes,  fetch  them," 
she  answered  and  watched  him  with  languid  in- 
terest depart  on  his  errand.  The  man  was  devoid 
of  magnetism  and  his  cause  suffered  in  propor- 
tion. Mrs.  Groot  lamented  this  singular  lack 
of  personal  charm  in  her  son.  She  would  have 
found  it  much  easier  to  fight  for  him  had  he  been 
more  capable  of  inspiring  affection;  but  she  had 
felt  neither  affection  for  or  interest  in  Wantage 
from  the  day  he  was  short-coated  and  proved  for 
the  first  time  that  no  amount  of  dressing  would 
make  him  presentable. 

"I  shall  always  love  Roland  best,"  she  mur- 
mured. Then  her  face  darkened.  "If  I  do  not 
end  by  hating  him,"  she  added. 

Startled  at  a  bitterness  she  had  been  uncon- 
scious of  harbouring,  she  tried  not  to  fit  the 


92  THE  ROMAN   ROAD 

knowledge  she  had  thus  acquired  to  the  plans 
she  was  stealthily  at  work  on. 

"I  would  rather  not  know  why  I  do  things," 
she  thought.  "It  is  more  satisfactory  to  do 
right  and  leave  circumstances  to  speak  for  them- 
selves." At  this  point  of  her  meditations  pain 
took  her  by  the  throat  and  drove  her  staggering 
back  into  the  house. 

Scarce  had  she  quitted  the  garden  before  Jean 
came  down  the  terrace  steps,  and  passing  from 
one  lawn  to  another  found  herself  at  last  in  a 
cedar  grove.  Cradled  in  tenebrous,  heavy 
shadow  the  trees  seemed  to  sleep.  For  a  while 
Jean  looked  at  them.  Tears  unsought,  un- 
wanted, brimmed  her  eyes,  then  stole  forth  slow 
and  quiet.  So  standing  Roland  found  her. 

"Jean,"  he  said,  "Jean." 

She  turned  to  him  and  smiled  through  her 
tears.  "Am  I  not  foolish  to  cry  because  there 
is  nothing  but  shadow  under  the  trees,"  she  said. 

He  took  her  hand.  "Come,"  he  exclaimed, 
"let  us  go  together  into  the  light." 

Hand  in  hand,  helpless  as  children  they  walked 


THE   ROMAN   ROAD  93 

out  into  the  fields.  The  sun  was  there,  and  the 
wind  and  the  sweet  freshness  of  grass,  but 
availed  them  nothing,  so  they  went  back  to  the 
house.  Deep  in  indifference  the  house  just  ex- 
erted itself  sufficiently  to  see  that  the  two  were 
separated  from  each  other  and  then  sank  back 
once  more  to  repose. 

That  night  Death  advanced  and  laid  sudden 
siege  to  Mrs.  Groot.  Generalled  by  Life,  she 
retreated  by  a  series  of  forced  marches,  Death 
occupying  the  abandoned  territory,  till  at  last 
Life  and  Death  confronted  each  other  across  an 
invisible  line.  Here,  much  as  a  ballet  dancer 
on  a  rope,  Mrs.  Groot  took  to  capering ;  Death, 
a  humourist  at  heart,  heaved  his  vast  sides  in 
laughter  and  meek  Life  stood  hair  on  end  to  see 
so  strange  an  image  of  himself.  Turning  wit 
Mrs.  Groot  tossed  up  ball-like  fear  and  pain, 
despair  and  judgment,  catching  the  swift  shower 
so  nimbly  in  her  containing  hand  that  it  was 
hard  to  tell  whether  such  things  had  existence 
except  as  paraphernalia  to  that  conjurer  the 
brain.  One  could  not  but  ask  what,  after  all,  had 


94  THE   ROMAN   ROAD 

Mrs.  Groot  to  do  with  Death.  Would  she  not 
for  ever  be  threading  a  way  out  from  the  caverns 
of  his  presence  back  to  that  needling  thing  Life  ? 
Could  Death  catch  in  his  sieve  a  soul  that  Life 
had  no  mesh  fine  enough  to  entangle?  Would 
the  needle's  eye  spew  out  the  camel  and  Mrs. 
Groot  live  because  Death  found  her?  It  seemed 
much  as  if  Death  had  put  a  similar  question  to 
himself  and  answered  it  in  the  negative,  for 
turning  his  back  he  marched  off  the  way  he  came 
and  Mrs.  Groot  coiled  round  in  Life's  lap  and 
fell  asleep.  After  some  hours  she  woke,  her 
wits  well  about  her,  and  sent  for  Roland.  He 
came.  At  sight  of  this  pain-shattered  woman, 
who  looked  far  too  feeble  to  hurt  any  one  or 
even  to  grope  for  shelter,  he  was  filled  with 
compassion.  Kneeling  down  beside  the  bed  he 
took  her  hand. 

"Mother,"  he  asked,  "can  I  do  nothing  for 
you?" 

She  smiled  feebly.  "After  all,"  she  thought, 
"it  would  give  her  little  pleasure  to  strike 
Roland." 


THE  KOMAN  ROAD  95 

"I  shall  always  love  you  best,"  she  admitted. 

He  kissed  her  hand,  glad  for  a  while  to  for- 
get the  past  and  bury  much  of  what  lay  between 
them.  She  cast  a  satisfied  glance  at  him;  he 
seemed  more  reasonable,  more  himself. 

"You  can  do  so  much  for  me  if  you  only  will," 
she  said. 

He  could  not  repress  a  shudder.  "What  can 
I  do?" 

"Promise  that  you  will  rebuild  the  village, 
then  I  shall  die  at  peace  with  myself." 

The  grotesque  inadequacy  of  such  a  garment 
to  keep  out  shame  made  him  smile.  His  silence 
irritated  her.  "You  always  try  to  prevent  me 
doing  right,"  she  said. 

At  that  he  promised  and  life  energised  Mrs. 
Groot  afresh.  It  was  profoundly  pathetic  to 
see  how  this  wisp  of  comfort  vivified  the  dying 
woman.  Sitting  up  she  demanded  Wantage. 

"My  dear  Wantage,"  she  exclaimed  in  an 
animated  tone  the  moment  he  entered  the  room, 
"at  last  I  have  made  Roland  promise  to  put 
the  village  into  decent  repair.  You  must  know 


96  THE  ROMAN  ROAD 

that  every  penny  he  spends  is  to  be  spent  in  the 
way  you  would  wish  if  the  money  were  yours. 
In  fact,  it  will  be  exactly  as  if  you  dipped  your 
hand  into  your  own  pocket.  Indeed,  my  dear 
boy,  let  me  say,  for  the  pleasure  of  saying  it,  the 
estate  is  your  own  and  that  Roland  desires  noth- 
ing more  than  to  administer  it  in  the  way  that 
pleases  you  best." 

This  offer,  which  seemed  so  tipped  and  feath- 
ered to  win  a  way  to  Wantage's  most  cherished 
goal,  mischanced. 

"That  is  rather  a  big  order  for  Roland,  or  for 
me  either,  isn't  it,  mother?"  he  answered  coldly. 

Mrs.  Groot's  ardour  waxed  rather  than 
waned.  It  was  impossible  to  believe  that  but  a 
few  hours  back  she  had  been  at  death's  door. 
"Oh  no,  we  are  a  long-established  firm,  Roland 
and  I,  and  we  like  big  orders,"  she  said  excitedly. 
"Besides  it  is  all  quite  simple.  Roland  will  con- 
sider the  money  yours  and  consult  you  in  every- 
thing. You  and  he  will  spend  your  time  either 
in  the  village  or  thinking  of  the  village." 

"It  seems  rather  ungrateful  of  me  to  say  sq 


THE  BOMAN  ROAD  97 

just  now,  mother,"  replied  Wantage,  "but  I 
would  rather  be  left  out  of  the  matter." 

Mrs.  Groot  leaned  back  upon  the  pillows. 
"Left  out  of  the  matter?"  she  repeated. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Wantage 
stared  shamefacedly  at  a  pair  of  shiny  genteel 
boots. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  been  getting 
rather  full  up  of  the  village  lately,"  he  said. 

"Full  up  of  the  village?" — She  would  not, 
she  could  not,  understand  him. 

"Yes,  mother,"  continued  Wantage  firmly, 
"I  should  like  to  ring  the  change  on  something 
or  somebody  else.  I  might,  for  instance,  see  a 
little  more  of  my  cousin." 

"Your  cousin!    What  cousin?" 

"Well,  Jean." 

"Of  Jean?" 

Wantage  twiddled  a  loose  button  on  his  coat. 
"She  is  very  pretty,  mother,  don't  you  think?" 

"Pretty!"  repeated  Mrs.  Groot,  throwing  up 
her  hands.  "Oh,  this  is  too  absurd." 

"I  see  nothing  absurd  in  it,  mother,"  Wantage 


98  THE  ROMAN  ROAD 

answered  with  a  certain  stubborn  ring  in  his 
voice  that  Mrs.  Groot  felt  echoed  her  own  too 
closely. 

Roland  walked  to  the  window  to  hide  his 
amusement,  and  also  his  pity.  He  suddenly  felt 
that  he  would  have  given  a  good  deal  not  to 
have  just  then  disappointed  his  mother.  "Why, 
Wantage,  I  believe  you  are  a  rake  at  heart,"  he 
said  shakily. 

"Not  quite  that,  Roland.  I  must  confess 
though  that  I  should  like  to  make  things  hum  a 
little  if  I  had  the  means,"  and  a  glow  of  self- 
approval  warmed  the  sallow  face  of  Wantage 
with  streaks  of  red. 

Indeed  the  fellow's  pleasure  in  himself  and 
the  situation  bid  fair  to  be  infectious;  for  the 
life  of  him  Roland  could  not  help  being  amused 
at  this  sudden  twist  in  the  situation.  "So  you 
wouldn't  plump  your  all  in  giving  the  village  a 
new  set  of  roofs,"  he  said. 

"I  would  do  a  great  deal  for  the  village,  but 
there  are  other  places  and  other  things,"  replied 
Wantage. 


THE  ROMAN  ROAD  99 

"Do  you  hear  that?"  asked  Roland,  turning  to 
his  mother.  "We  left  the  other  places  and  other 
things  out  of  account  with  Wantage." 

Mrs.  Groot  while  her  sons  were  speaking  had 
dwindled  quite  quietly  down  to  withered  age. 
"I  am  too  tired  to  listen  to  sentiments  that  I  am 
sure  by  to-morrow  Wantage  will  regret  ever 
having  entertained,"  she  answered,  and  leaning 
back  on  the  pillows  closed  her  eyes. 

Roland  put  his  arm  through  his  brother's  and 
led  him  from  the  room.  "I  congratulate  you," 
he  said,  as  the  door  closed  behind  them.  "You 
are  evidently  as  sick  of  the  village  as  I  am." 

"Oh,  ah,  I  must  own  to  being  a  little  tired 
of  it." 

"Thanks  for  the  truth,  my  dear  Wantage;  I 
shall  spend  the  money  with  a  fresh  zest  because 
I  shall  know  I  am  spending  it  in  a  way  you  do 
not  approve  1" 

"Do  not  misunderstand  me,"  replied  Wan- 
tage, with  geniune  earnestness,  "I  am  only  too 
delighted  to  see  you  spend  your  money  on  the 
village,  though  I  must  admit  that  were  I  in  your 


100  THE  ROMAN   KOAD 

place  I  should  not  devote  all  my  spare  cash  to 
it.  In  fact  I  should  hope  to " 

"Hope  what?" 

"Well  (sheepishly),  perhaps  to  marry." 

"Marry!  Great  Scott,  Wantage,  who  are 
you  thinking  of  marrying?" 

Wantage  withdrew  his  arm  and  faced  Roland. 
"Can't  you  guess?"  he  asked. 

"Guess?  No.  Some  pupil  teacher,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"Not  exactly,"  replied  Wantage  in  a  curiously 
even  tone.  "I  want  to  marry  Jean." 

Roland  stared  and  then  burst  into  wild,  harsh 
laughter. 

Wantage  paid  no  heed  to  him.  "By  Jove," 
he  said,  "I  could  do  with  a  little  money  just  now; 
but  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  whistle  for  it." 

At  that  Roland  clapped  him  hugely  on  the 
back.  "Whistle  for  money,"  he  exclaimed. 
"We  can  all  fife  that  tune;  but  you,  Wantage, 
shall  fife  loudest  and  longest" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THIS  apostasy,  this  defection  of  Wantage 
from  his  better  self,  had  a  diverse  influence  on 
the  conduct  of  Roland  and  his  mother.  Mrs. 
Groot  changed  her  rooms  to  some  that  did  not 
look  out  upon  the  village,  and  waited,  with  eyes 
turned  towards  a  bare  and  ugly  hill,  for  her 
younger  son's  home-coming  from  husks,  swine 
and  guzzledom.  Into  Roland  it  seemed  at 
first  to  infuse  the  spirit  of  a  master-builder;  he 
would  drain  and  remodel  the  village  from  end 
to  end,  prop  up  the  church  tower  which  bid  fair 
to  topple  down,  and  sweep  with  vicious  swift- 
ness reward  to  virtue.  Not  content  with  that, 
Jean,  he  told  himself,  must  play  Queen  of  the 
Ceremonies  in  this  strange  masque  of  all  that 
was  not.  She  should  be  the  central  figure  on 
whom  the  artist  perforce  must  lavish  his  finest 
101 


THE  ROMAN   KOAD 

touches,  his  most  consummate  art.  Rotten  Row, 
— the  name  savoured  the  scheme, — should  first 
be  rebuilt,  and  the  architect  having  drawn  out 
the  plan,  Roland  laid  it  before  Jean. 

She  gently  pushed  it  on  one  side  with  a  light, 
almost  imperceptible,  gesture  of  scorn. 

"I  can  be  of  no  help  to  you  in  this  matter," 
she  said. 

"There  you  mistake.  Your  interest  is  part 
payment  of  the  game.  In  fact  the  game  might 
never  have  been  played  if  Fate  had  not  allotted 
to  you  the  part  of  protagonist." 

She  loved  this  man  and  her  love  made  her 
very  cold.  "You  cannot  bargain  with  a  third 
party  over  such  a  matter,"  she  replied. 

"The  third  party  holds  the  stakes,  is  umpire, 
applauds  the  justice  of  the  decisions,"  he  an- 
swered bitterly. 

"You  either  owe  the  village  something  or  you 
do  not." 

"I  knew,"  he  said,  bursting  into  a  harsh  laugh, 
"that  when  it  came  to  the  point,  you  would  take 
sides." 


THE   ROMAN   KOAD  103 

Her  face  was  curiously  expressionless.  "And 
what  if  I  do  take  a  side?"  she  asked. 

He  had  given  up  so  much  to  get  this  woman's 
love,  he  determined  to  get  it.  He  drew  nearer ; 
but  for  all  his  will  to  have  his  way,  he  could  not 
fit  the  desire  of  his  heart  to  words. 

"A  man's  words  always  fail  him  when  he 
wants  them  most,"  he  exclaimed  hoarsely. 

Her  face,  which  had  grown  as  white  and  hard 
as  his,  softened. 

"Ah,"  she  answered  in  her  gentle  voice,  "why 
should  we  wish  it  otherwise  ? — for  if  a  man  could 
speak  at  such  a  moment,  he  would  speak  with 
too  much  authority." 

A  dull  hopelessness  at  having  to  lose  this 
woman  possessed  him;  he  had  not  known  that 
he  loved  her  so  much.  "Jean,"  he  said,  "it  is 
when  a  man  does  not  love  that  he  tells  a  woman 
of  his  love." 

She  looked  past  him  to  the  wide-spreading 
green  fields  and  spoke  to  herself. 

"When  we  are  learning  to  love  we  would  break 
down  barriers,"  she  said,  "but  when  we  love  we 


104  THE  EOMAN   ROAD 

rejoice  that  we  are  barred  out,  lest  all  unwit- 
tingly we  should  intrude." 

Roland  left  her  and  went  to  his  study.  He 
took  the  architect's  plan  and  thrust  it  into  the 
fire.  The  flames  twisted  and  shrivelled  the 
parchment,  and  soon  the  thing  turned  ash; 
but  Wantage  was  no  nearer  coming  into  his 
own. 

That  day  Death  with  delicate  hands  shook  out 
his  veil  over  Mrs.  Groot  so  that,  to  the  dying 
woman's  eyes,  all  she  fled  so  fast  from,  seemed 
more  strange  and  distant  than  the  mystery  she 
hastened  towards.  In  those  last  moments  she 
was  haunted  by  the  vision  of  something  that 
needs  had  to  be  revealed.  In  other  days  Mrs. 
Groot  had  pecked  at  the  idea  of  a  death-bed 
confession,  urged  to  it  maybe  by  a  half-formed 
wish  to  have  revenge  on  Roland,  but,  death  at 
hand,  it  was  not  revenge  she  thought  of;  she  was 
possessed  by  a  vague  notion  that  her  one  road 
to  safety  lay  through  a  public  disclosure  of  all 
that  she  had  hitherto  kept  carefully  hidden. 

Hastily,  at  her  request,  an  audience  was  gath- 


THE  ROMAN   ROAD  105 

ered  together, — Wantage,  Jean,  Miss  O'Rell, 
the  Miss  Skiffingtons,  the  Ragstocks.  They  filed 
in  and  stood  and  looked  at  the  dying  woman  who 
lay  picking  at  the  sheets  as  if  she  were  picking 
flecks  of  her  own  soul. 

Raising  herself  feebly,  Mrs.  Groot  counted 
heads.  "I  am  glad,  so  glad  you  have  all  come. 
I  had  only  Roland  to  trust  to,"  and  she  looked 
dimly  across  to  where  she  thought  her  eldest  son 
stood.  "I  have  wanted  to  see  you  all  so  long 
and  so  much,  so  much  and  so,  so  long"  She 
leant  back  on  the  pillows.  "I  am  tired,"  she 
gasped,  "tired.  It  has  been  a  long  battle  against 
fate  and  against — well,  no  matter.  Dear  Ro- 
land, I  have  always  loved  him  best,  but  I  must 
be  fair  to  all."  The  dying  woman  stopped  short 
and  beckoned  Wantage  to  her.  "Groot  is  yours, 
Wantage,"  she  said,  "and  poor,  erring,  mis- 
guided Roland  has  no  right  even  to  the  name. 
He  has  known  this  for  a  long  time  and  that  is 
why  I  have  found  it  so  difficult  to  tell  you. 
Right,  Wantage,  is  harder  to  do  than  most 
people  credit,  and  it  has  been  the  struggle,  the 


106  THE   ROMAN   ROAD 

ceaseless  struggle  to  do  right,  that  has  killed  me. 
Be  kind  to  Roland,  Wantage,  for  though  he  has 
not  helped  me  I  should  be  glad  to  think  that  you 
will  help  him."  The  small  voice  twittered  away 
into  nothing,  and  the  guests  as  so  many  dolls 
stared  woodenly  at  their  feet,  and  then  as  wood- 
enly  rose  and  marched  out,  leaving  the  room 
empty  of  all  but  Jean,  Wantage,  Roland  and 
the  dying  woman.  Quiet  and  still  they  stayed. 
Death  might  have  claimed  them  also  for  his 
own. 

Suddenly  Jean  smiled — so  unheralded  a  vis- 
itor none  had  well  awaited,  and  yet  of  all  the 
guests  it  seemed  the  god-bidden  one.  It  came, 
a  breath  of  that  finer  hope  which  blows  athwart 
human  despair,  a  mystic,  intangible  freshness 
breathing  men  back  to  God.  Then  Jean  also 
passed  out  of  the  room  and  Wantage  drew 
near  the  bedside.  His  face  had  the  severe  ex- 
pression of  a  man  who  condemns  with  no  uneasy 
sense  of  the  narrowness  of  his  own  under- 
standing. 

"I  am  glad  you  told  me,  mother,"  he  re- 


THE  ROMAN   ROAD  107 

marked,  "though  I  am  afraid  what  you  said 
won't  help  much  to  put  things  right." 

Mrs.  Groot  looked  at  him,  pushed  him  away, 
and  he  went,  leaving  her  alone  with  Roland. 
She  tried  to  peer  through  the  thickening  dark- 
ness for  Roland's  figure,  but  could  not  see  him. 

"Are  you  there,  Roland?"  she  asked. 

He  came  to  her. 

"I  have  always  loved  you  best,  Roland,"  she 
murmured.  He  understood  that  she  spoke  the 
truth. 

"Are  you  happier,  mother?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered  feebly. 

The  setting  sun  sought  the  horizon,  filling  as 
it  did  so  the  room  with  a  noble  radiance.  Mrs. 
Groot  looked  at  it,  first  carelessly,  then  with  in- 
creasing interest. 

"What  a  lot  of  light,"  she  said,  and  died. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THEY  buried  Mrs.  Groot,  and  with  her  as 
much  of  her  shame  as  the  grave  can  swallow  in,- 
which,  after  all,  is  not  much.  When  the  funeral 
was  over  and  Mrs.  Groot  stamped  into  the  earth 
like  some  frail  little  butterfly,  Roland  crossed 
the  park  and  close  to  the  Roman  Road  found 
Jean.  He  had  come  in  search  of  scorn;  but  so 
worn  and  sad  the  girl  looked  he  scarce  had  heart 
to  seek  it  from  such  hands. 

"Jean,"  he  said,  "I  have  been  kicked  out,  and 
it  is  only  fair  that  you  should  have  your  kick 
with  the  rest  I  love  you,  Jean.  I  hoped  to 
have  told  you  this  with  Groot,  the  name  and  the 
property,  at  my  back,  but — "  he  stopped  short 
and  stood  dumb  and  bitter,  stuttering  after 
words  that  would  not  come. 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment;  she  loved 
the  man ;  but  felt  that  there  was  something  gro- 
tesque in  his  attitude  towards  her. 
108 


THE  ROMAN   ROAD  109 

"I  love  you,  Roland,"  she  admitted,  and 
turned  away  to  hide  a  half-smile. 

He  had  awaited  her  scorn,  but  her  love  he 
had  no  room  for;  where  should  he  house  it? 

"Jean,"  he  said,  "you  cannot  be  wife  to  a 
thief." 

She  took  his  hands  and  drew  him  towards  the 
Roman  Road.  "We  are  but  children,  Roland, 
you  and  I,"  she  said.  "Let  us  run  from  all  the 
mistakes  that  we  have  made  and  leave  men  and 
women  to  put  away  our  broken  toys  and  raze 
our  castles." 

He  grew  more  stubborn.  "They  shall  not 
say  my  wife  has  a  thief  for  husband,"  he  burst 
out. 

"Hush,"  she  said  softly,  "we  have  played  too 
long  and  grown  too  earnest.  What  is  the  past, 
Roland,  that  we  should  value  it  more  than  the 
present  ?  Even  to  dwell  on  the  past  is  to  forfeit 
the  future.  Look  at  the  Roman  Road.  See 
how  triumphantly  it  presses  on.  Let  us  trust 
ourselves  to  the  Roman  Road." 

"Jean,"  he  answered,  and  his   harsh  voice 


110  THE  ROMAN  ROAD 

sounded  harsher  than  ever  before,  "this  is  mad- 
ness. I  have  not  the  money  to  support  a  wife." 

She  laughed.  "I  have  enough  and  to  spare," 
she  said.  "We  will  lend  ourselves  sufficient  to 
be  happy  on  and  if  we  need  more  we  will  work 
for  it.  See,"  and  she  pointed  westward.  "The 
sun  has  begun  to  sink;  soon  the  night  will  be 
here  when  no  man  can  work.  Let  us  hasten, 
Roland,  while  there  is  yet  time." 

Hand  in  hand,  helpless  as  children,  they  fled 
down  the  Roman  Road. 


THE    BALANCE 


THE    BALANCE 

CHAPTER   I 

ABOVE  the  festering  streets  of  Naples  the 
new  moon,  a  silver  ripple,  was  blown  through 
the  Italian  night.  Fragile,  fugitive,  she  fled 
amid  the  clouds,  while  from  below  the  beautiful, 
bestial  city  harried  her  with  gross  cries,  cruel 
laughter,  and  the  dark  waters  of  the  Bay  re- 
vealed how  tremulous  was  her  glistening  flight. 
A  breeze  scarce  stirred  the  palms  that  rose  tall 
and  majestic  before  a  palace;  houses  hemmed 
the  palace  in,  and  from  its  foot  the  street  sank 
abrupt,  treacherous  and  squalid  to  the  quay. 
Doors,  windows,  street  were  filled  with  gaily 
dressed,  chattering  men  and  women;  the  palace 
alone  seemed  deserted;  but  high  up  in  the  top- 
most story,  half  hidden  in  shadow,  was  the 

113 


114  THE  BALANCE 

solitary  figure  of  a  man.  So  grey  he  looked 
amidst  the  greyness,  so  old,  so  still,  the  palace 
could  well  have  claimed  him  as  part  of  itself; 
then  he  leant  forward,  struck  a  match,  and  the 
light  falling  on  him  showed  that  he  was  but  a 
youth  with  a  tired  face.  The  flame  flickered  a 
moment, — went  out,  and  the  black  horde  of 
shadows  swarmed  in  once  more  upon  him, — 
mysterious,  intangible,  blighting  they  were  as 
those 

"Fears  and  sorrows  that  infest  the  soul.'* 

Suddenly  with  much  cracking  of  whip,  jan- 
gling of  bells,  and  followed  by  maledictions  from 
the  crowd,  a  carrozza  rattled  down  the  street 
and  halted  before  the  palace.  Flinging  a  coin 
to  the  driver,  a  young  man  jumped  out  and  dived 
into  the  gloomy  entrance.  His  feet  struck  the 
steps  with  a  virile  sound,  sending  tidings  of  his 
coming  racing  in  advance;  the  corridors  echoed 
as  he  spurned  through  them  on  his  way  upwards ; 
from  gallery  to  gallery,  from  tier  to  tier,  he 
sprang  till  at  last,  panting  and  breathless,  he 


THE  BALANCE  115 

reached  the  topmost  story  and  found  himself 
barred  back  by  a  massive  door.  Within  nothing 
stirred.  Raising  his  hand  he  rapped  out  a  quick 
knock. 

"East,"  he  cried,  "Richard  East,  are  you 
there?" 

His  voice,  fresh  and  resonant,  rang  through 
the  palace,  only  to  get  muffled  and  lost  in  some 
far  away  waste  of  emptiness;  while  disturbed  by 
the  outcry  a  legion  of  bats  wheeled  from  end  to 
end  of  the  great  corridor,  bruising  themselves 
against  the  walls  with  a  hideous,  spattering 
noise.  The  man  recoiled,  shuddered  and  re- 
newed his  assault  upon  the  door.  It  opened 
quietly;  and  he  stared  into  a  grey,  shadowful 
room,  which  seemed  to  protest  by  its  silence 
against  the  youthfulness  of  his  intrusive  clamour. 
For  the  first  time  he  misdoubted  the  impulse 
which  had  sent  him  helter-skelter  thither  from 
the  other  end  of  the  continent :  he  felt  a  desire 
to  bolt  back  more  rapidly  than  he  had  come; 
and  as  he  paused,  hesitating,  a  gentle  mocking 
laugh  sounded  among  the  shadows. 


116  THE  BALANCE 

"Oh,  damn  it,  Richard!"  he  said,  and  en- 
tered. 

A  brass  lamp  with  three  spouts,  old  as  the 
palace,  threw  a  vague  light  on  the  frescoed  walls 
and  up  towards  the  arched  ceiling,  where,  among 
dust  and  shadows,  a  few  pale  stars  still  shone. 
The  room  had  but  a  table  and  two  chairs,  yet 
with  windows  wide  to  the  purple  night,  it  sus- 
tained an  air  of  magnificence. 

Sliding  unobtrusively  into  a  seat,  the  new- 
comer flung  one  leg  over  the  other  and  glanced 
with  a  mixture  of  shyness,  embarrassment  and 
affection  at  Richard  East. 

The  lean,  brown  face  of  Richard  East  did 
not  lend  itself  well  to  description.  If  the  man's 
reticent  spirit  was  portrayed,  it  was  portrayed 
veiled.  There  was  nothing  common  or  unclean 
in  the  face,  much  that  was  harsh  and  uncouth, 
much  that  was  tender,  delicate  and  beautiful. 

"Well,  Jeffrey?"  he  said. 

Jeffrey  coloured ;  he  was  oppressed  by  his  own 
raw  youth  and  inexperience,  and  by  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  had  condemned  unheard  this  friend 


THE  BALANCE  117 

he  loved,   but  did  not  understand.     Then  he 

bungled  into  speech. 

* 'There  is  a  fishing  village  over  in  England," 

he  began,  ujust  the  usual  sort  of  English  fishing 

village;  a  strip  of  sand,  rocks,  the  sea  tearing 

over  them,  and  plenty  of  wind;"  he  stopped  and 

looked  helplessly  at  Richard. 

"Was  it  to  tell  me  that  you  came  here?" 

Richard  asked. 

Jeffrey  sought  refuge  from  discomfort  in  a 

half  truth.     "Yes,"  he  admitted.     "I  was  in 

Paris.      Something    made    me    think    of    the 

village." 

"And  that  something  was?" 

"I  had  been  thinking  of  Naples." 

"The  two  places  are  so  different." 

"That's  it;  they  are  so  different " 

Richard  smiled:  "The  one  place  all  health." 
"The  one  place  all  health,"  repeated  Jeffrey. 
"The  other  all  disease." 
"Naples  is  a  pest-house,"  Jeffrey  blurted. 
"And  now,"  said  Richard,   "you  must  give 

me  your  real  reason  for  coming." 


118  THE  BALANCE 

But  at  this  point  circumstances  became  too 
strong  for  Jeffrey;  the  most  truthful  of  men,  he 
lied  out  flat  and  simple.  "I  haven't  the  ghost 
of  a  notion  why  I  came,"  he  answered.  Snap- 
ping open  his  watch,  he  glanced  at  the  time,  an 
expression  of  relief  crossing  his  hot,  flurried  face. 
"I  must  be  off.  I  want  to  catch  the  night  mail 
back."  For  a  moment  he  stood  looking  at  the 
Bay,  which,  seamed  from  end  to  end  by  the  moon, 
fringed  with  harbour  lights,  slept  beneath  a 
many-coloured  cloak.  To  him  this  marvellous, 
living  sea  reeked  with  the  abomination  of  en- 
chantment; the  unnatural  beauty  of  Naples  was 
but  part  of  her  foul  spiritual  grossness  in  which 
his  friend's  soul  had  been  engulfed  and  sucked 
down.  Suppressing  a  shudder,  he  turned  away. 

On  the  table  a  bottle  of  Marano,  a  vine  leaf 
for  stopper,  had  been  pushed  in  amongst  a  heap 
of  loose  manuscript.  Jeffrey  bent  down  and 
scribbled  an  address  on  one  of  the  blank  sheets. 

"I  read  your  last  book,"  he  remarked  absently. 

Richard  made  no  comment. 

Picking  up  his  hat,  Jeffrey  walked  to  the  door 


THE  BALANCE  119 

and  stood  a  moment  looking  back  at  his  friend, 
— already  lost  to  him  in  the  shadow  of  the  vast 
empty  room. 

"Richard,"  he  said  with  sudden  passion, 
"come  out  of  this  place.  Come  out  into  the 
fresh  air."  Then  he  went,  and  the  echo  of  his 
retreating  footsteps  rushed  hither  and  thither 
through  the  long  galleries,  as  if  anxious  to  find 
some  way  of  escape;  abruptly  at  last  they  broke 
free  and  were  gone,  and  the  great  palace  was 
no  more  than  a  forlorn,  forsaken  shell,  so 
eagerly  had  this  man  cast  it  aside  in  his  quest 
of  an  ampler  home. 

Little  by  little,  still  feverishly  crying,  Naples 
fell  into  fitful  slumber;  the  clouds  sank  to  the 
horizon,  and  the  new  moon,  a  ghost  within  her 
crescent,  canted  towards  the  dawn. 


CHAPTER   II 

A  STRIP  of  sand,  a  distant  village,  and  out 
among  the  breakers,  Jeffrey.  The  green  waves 
tossed  him  from  one  to  the  other,  and  he,  diving 
through  their  embrace,  caught  them  by  their 
great  white  beards.  Jeffrey  loved  this  sea  which 
washed  the  wild  coasts  where  his  fishing  village 
stood,  loved  it  for  its  stupendous  strength  and 
virility;  stung  by  its  kisses  he  coveted  nothing 
from  woman:  and  the  breakers  pawed  and 
fondled  him,  as  if  he  were  some  whelp  sprung 
from  their  own  salt  loins ;  then  uprearing,  moun- 
tainous and  hissing,  shot  him  down  icy  lengths 
of  sea  to  land.  He  dressed, — the  wind  for 
towel,  and  clambered  across  the  rocks  till  a  deep 
narrow  gorge  filled  with  the  swirling  tide  barred 
back  his  progress.  Near  a  mass  of  green  sam- 
phire on  the  cliff  opposite  lay  a  woman  asleep. 
Her  pale  face  was  turned  towards  Jeffrey,  and 

120 


THE  BALANCE  121 

against  the  dead  blackness  of  the  rocks  her  black 
hair  was  lustrous.  The  body,  carelessly  out- 
stretched, retained  inviolate  its  air  of  guarded 
mystery ;  and  the  sun's  rays  playing  on  the  sleep- 
ing form  seemed  but  an  iridescence  of  woman- 
hood. Very  lovely  the  woman  looked  lying 
there.  A  feeling  of  awe  stole  over  Jeffrey;  and 
while  he  yet  stood  watching,  the  woman,  touched 
by  some  hidden  sorrow,  wept.  Quietly  the  tears 
had  gathered  behind  the  closed  lids ;  quietly  they 
fell,  and  unmoved  the  dead  black  rock  received 
them.  Raising  her  poor  hands  in  protest  the 
woman  wept  on.  What  communing  did  the 
spirit  have  with  that  body  thus  to  disturb  the 
serene  recess  of  sleep?  Those  hands,  raised 
in  mute  entreaty,  against  what  did  they  appeal  ? 
Stirred  to  the  depths  Jeffrey  moved  away,  and 
left  the  sea — a  white  fire — to  guard  the  woman 
with  leaping  flames.  Long  it  thundered  at  the 
base  of  the  cliff,  then  drew  off,  muttering  in  all 
its  channels:  and  the  woman,  waking  and  con- 
scious of  no  hidden  grief,  knew  not  that  she  had 
wept.  She  rose  and  wound  the  loose  masses  of 


122  THE  BALANCE 

her  hair  round  her  shapely  head,   her   body 
swaying  joyously  against  the  breeze. 

A  bare  twenty  summers  old,  Rachel  Loraine 
was  more  girl  than  woman,  and  light  of  heart 
and  step  she  followed  the  path  which  led  down- 
wards to  the  beach.  On  the  far  horizon  the 
brown-sailed  fishing-boats,  waiting  to  beat  back 
with  the  turn  of  tide,  seemed  a  mirage  of  some 
event  yet  to  fall  out.  At  sight  of  them  lying 
there  watchful,  patient,  assured,  a  vague  yearn- 
ing filled  Rachel,  and  her  heart  hungered, — but 
after  what  she  did  not  know.  Swiftly  she  crossed 
the  sands,  and  leaving  behind  the  village,  the 
whitewashed  inn,  where  she  and  her  father  had 
that  morning  taken  rooms,  followed  a  road  which 
with  abrupt  zigzags  crept  up  the  hill's  face. 
Far  above,  the  pine-woods  awaited  her  approach ; 
and  she  toiled  on  till  at  last  the  road  reared 
straight  up  and  dived  into  the  sombre  forest. 
A  little  afraid,  Rachel  glanced  back.  The  fish- 
ing-boats still  lay  motionless.  Their  inactivity 
annoyed  her  as  a  laggard  future  might  have 
done;  quickening  pace  she  penetrated  deeper 


THE  BALANCE  123 

into  the  wood  till  at  a  bend  of  the  path  a  cottage 
came  in  sight,  wedged  against  a  flat-faced  rock. 
A  gaunt,  middle-aged  woman  sat  near  the  door- 
step knitting.  The  trees  grew  close  round  her, 
and  before  the  two  windows  on  either  side  were 
two  heart-shaped  beds,  bare  of  flowers.  A  low 
moan  came  from  within  the  cottage.  Rachel 
straightened  herself  abruptly.  Again  and  again 
the  dull,  agonised  sound,  followed  by  a  child's 
weary  sobbing,  mourned  past  the  woman,  who 
with  head  bent  over  her  work  knitted  on  un- 
moved. A  few  quick  steps  brought  Rachel  to 
her  side. 

"There  isn't  nought  to  be  done.  The  doctor 
says  so,"  the  woman  announced.  "He's  got  to 
die:  the  sooner  the  better."  Her  face  was  white, 
with  blue  lines  about  the  eyes  and  mouth,  but 
her  voice  was  stolid  to  hardness. 

Rachel  brushed  by  her  and  entered  the  cot- 
tage. A  withered,  skinny,  big-headed,  wide- 
eyed  child  lay  twisted  half  under  and  half  out 
of  the  sheets,  and  standing  looking  down  at  him 
was  Jeffrey.  The  man's  huge  frame,  his  utter 


THE  BALANCE 

helplessness,  struck  Rachel.  Turning  quickly 
she  knelt  beside  the  child,  but  the  child  would 
have  none  of  her,  and  impotent  as  Jeffrey,  her 
all  as  his  was  to  compassionate.  While  she  knelt 
there,  her  tears  mingling  with  the  child's,  Rich- 
ard East  entered  the  room.  He  came  to  the 
head  of  the  bed,  unstrapped  the  knapsack  from 
his  shoulders,  and  laid  it  with  slow  deliberation 
on  the  floor. 

The  child,  ceasing  to  cry,  watched  him. 

"Who  are  you?"  said  the  child. 

"The  friend  of  the  butcher's  dog,"  Richard 
answered,  and  the  child  accepted  the  intro- 
duction. 

"What  do  you  do?"  he  asked. 

"I  write  stories." 

"What  kind  of  stories?" 

"Stories  of  men  and  boys  and  the  fierce  ad- 
ventures of  the  spirit." 

"Then,"  said  the  child,  "you  will  write  about 


me." 


"I  will  get  paper  and  pen,"  replied  Richard, 
and  took  both  from  his  knapsack.     Intent  on 


THE  BALANCE  125 

interesting  the  dying  boy  he  did  not  appear  to 
see  either  Rachel  or  his  friend.  Withdrawing 
to  the  window  Rachel  watched  and  listened,  as 
might  some  less  privileged  child,  who,  allowed 
to  look  on,  was  yet  neither  to  be  seen  nor  heard. 
Jeffrey  also  was  silent:  vague  misgiving  filled 
him.  A  few  short  hours  back  and  he  would  have 
been  overjoyed  at  the  sight  of  Richard;  but  now 
something  had  come  between  Richard  and  his 
welcome  and  Jeffrey  felt  that  it  was  the  pres- 
ence of  Rachel. 

"What  is  the  book  to  be  called?"  the  boy 
asked. 

"The  book's  name,"  said  Richard,  "is  The 
Magnificent  Adventures  of  King  Pain's  Hench- 


man.' " 


"What  is  a  Henchman?" 

"When  real  kings  wore  real  crowns  a  hench- 
man led  King  Pain's  horse.  A  henchman  is  a 
servitor." 

"A  Servitor?" 

"Yes,"  said  Richard,  "we  all  wish  to  serve, 
but  only  the  great  are  born  to  serve." 


126  THE  BALANCE 

The  child,  who  had  half  risen,  lay  back  once 
more  on  the  bed.  "Don't  speak,  please,"  he  ex- 
claimed, adding  after  a  pause:  "We  shall  want 
a  big  piece  of  paper." 

"The  biggest." 

"Who  will  see  the  magnificent  adventures?" 
asked  the  child. 

"No  one,"  said  Richard  authoritatively. 

"No  one !" 

"Magnificent  adventures  are  never  witnessed 
or  they  would  not  be  magnificent." 

"Ah !"  said  the  child,  adding  not  without  sat- 
isfaction, "I  shall  have  to  tell  you  or  you  could 
not  write  them  down." 

"I  am  'No  One,'  "  observed  Richard. 

"You  must  put  that  in  the  title  too,"  said  the 
child,  and  Richard  took  the  paper  and  wrote 
down,  "The  Magnificent  Adventures  of  King 
Pain's  Henchman  as  told  to  No  One."  "Now 
we  must  fill  the  book." 

"Well,"  said  the  child,  "I  was  born.  I  meant 
to  be  like  everybody  else." 

"I  hope  not,"  Richard  put  in,  "for  then  it 


THE  BALANCE  127 

wouldn't  have  been  worth  while  being  born 
at  all." 

"I  mean,"  corrected  the  child,  "that  I  meant 
to  have  been  able  to  run  very  fast,  a  little  faster 
than  the  other  boys,  just  enough  to  beat  them." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  distracted  Richard,  "then 
you  would  never  have  been  King  Pain's  hench- 
man and  the  book  would  never  have  been 
written." 

"I  did  not  think  of  that  till  this  minute,"  the 
child  admitted  and  looked  solemnly  into  Rich- 
ard's face. 

"Well,"  said  Richard,  "we  must  pass  it  over." 

"Do  you  think  King  Pain  will  pass  it  over?" 

"He  is  a  great  king  and  it  is  your  first 
offence." 

"I  am  glad  it  is  my  first  offence,"  said  the  boy. 
"How,"  he  asked,  "can  I  have  magnificent  ad- 
ventures?" 

"How!"  exclaimed  Richard,  surprised. 

"In  bed,  I  mean." 

"Magnificent  adventures,"  answered  Richard, 
"are  adventures  of  the  spirit.  Other  adventures 


128  THE  BALANCE 

are  merely  adventures.  No  man  counts  those 
in  at  all." 

"Ah!"  said  the  boy  and  shut  his  eyes  tight. 
Then  suddenly  his  body  twitched  together  and 
he  uttered  a  sharp  cry.  Rachel  and  Jeffrey 
turned  their  eyes  to  Richard,  as  if  asking  how 
he  would  meet  an  emergency  they  found  so  baf- 
fling. Richard's  face  was  calm,  almost  placid. 

"King  Pain  speaks  to  you,"  he  said  softly. 

"Is  that  how  the  king  speaks  ?"  the  child  asked, 
surprised  into  attention. 

"Yes." 

"What  do  you  think  he  said?" 

"He  told  you  to  forget  him." 

The  child's  white,  shrunken  face  grew  pink, 
as  he  strove  to  be  a  faithful  henchman.  Then, 
all  unawaited  by  Richard,  the  boy  smiled.  "I 
am  glad  I  serve  a  king,"  he  murmured. 

"It  is  a  great  honour  to  serve  King  Pain," 
Richard  replied,  kneeling  down  beside  the 
bed. 

"What  do  you  think  he  said  then?"  the  child 
asked  feebly. 


THE  BALANCE  129 

uHe  told  you  to  sleep  and  when  he  called  you 
were  to  acclaim  him." 

"Acclaim  him?" 

"All  kings  are  acclaimed.  You  must  cry — 
'The  King!  The  King!'" 

The  boy's  face  lit  up.  "I  am  glad  I  serve 
a  king,"  he  repeated,  and  shutting  his  eyes  dozed 
off  to  sleep. 

"None  but  a  child  could  learn  that  lesson  in 
twenty  minutes,"  said  Richard  softly  to  himself, 
and  looking  up  he  saw  the  woman  standing  by 
the  bed. 

'Tis  the  first  natural  sleep  he's  had  these 
many  days  and  nights,"  she  remarked.  Her  face 
grew  less  hard.  She  went  back  to  the  kitchen, 
the  others  following.  "I'll  not  let  you  go,"  she 
exclaimed  with  sudden  fierceness,  turning  on 
Richard.  "Leastways  not  till  the  lad  is  dead. 
You  can  please  un  better  than  I  can:  'tis  more 
a  matter  of  hours  than  days." 

Richard  sat  down  in  a  big  wooden  arm-chair. 
Jeffrey  went  forward  to  welcome  him,  but  had 
no  welcome  to  give. 


130  THE  BALANCE 

"So  you  have  come,"  he  said  feebly,  and 
touched  Richard  on  the  shoulder. 

Richard  had  fallen  into  a  dream  and  did  not 
hear  and  for  a  moment  Jeffrey  halted  indecisive, 
then  followed  Rachel  out.  At  the  cottage  door 
they  both  glanced  back.  Richard's  frail  body 
was  lost  in  the  amplitude  of  the  massive  chair; 
but  his  spirit  dominated  the  quiet  room.  Sup- 
pressing a  sigh  Jeffrey  left  him.  Scarce  had  he 
gone  before  Richard  awoke  from  his  dream, 
hurried  to  the  door,  gazed  after  them,  and 
Jeffrey  turned  and  saw  that  Richard's  eyes  were 
fixed  on  Rachel.  Deep  down  in  Jeffrey's  heart 
a  dull  fire  kindled  into  life. 

The  long  track  of  forest  drew  together  as 
Rachel  and  he  hurried  through  it ;  soon  they  be- 
gan to  descend  the  hill,  while  stretched  out  before 
them  bare  and  motionless  was  the  sea.  Rachel's 
eyes  searched  the  horizon  for  the  fishing  boats : 
they  were  no  longer  visible.  With  sails  clewed 
against  the  mast  the  boats  lay  safe  in  harbour. 
The  trivial  circumstance  filled  her  with  strange 
satisfaction;  turning  to  Jeffrey,  she  asked  him 
to  tell  her  the  name  of  his  friend. 


THE  BALANCE  131 

"He  is  Richard  East,  the  novelist,"  Jeffrey 
answered  in  curt  tones. 

She  made  no  comment  till  they  reached  the 
inn,  then  she  stopped  on  the  whitewashed  steps. 
"We  were  so  helpless  till  he  came,"  she  said 
smiling. 

Jeffrey  did  not  smile;  his  face  hardened,  her 
words  had  called  up  a  different  vision  of  help- 
lessness; a  vision  of  her  asleep  and  weeping  on 
the  black  rocks. 

His  grudging  silence  displeased  Rachel:  she 
passed  into  the  house  and  left  him  a  prey  to 
disquieting  thought.  He  loved  Richard  East; 
yet  had  become  hostile  to  him.  Jeffrey,  by  nat- 
ure loyal,  had  hitherto  found  scant  difficulty  in 
keeping  true  to  his  engagements  and  to  his  fellow- 
men  ;  but  now  it  seemed  that  circumstances  were 
about  to  prove  less  pliable.  That  night  he  could 
not  sleep,  and  as  he  tossed  to  and  fro  on  the 
bed  he  always  seemed  to  hear  Richard's  step 
coming  down  the  hill  towards  the  village,  and 
it  was  bitter  to  Jeffrey  that  he  had  no  welcome 
in  his  heart  for  Richard.  It  sometimes  seems 


132  THE  BALANCE 

that  the  sinner  caught  between  the  anvil  and  the 
hammer  does  so  deafen  men  with  his  groans 
they  have  no  ears  to  hear  the  just  man's  plaint 
that  he  cannot  be  wholly  just  or  loyal.  But  in 
truth  this  world  is  so  contrived  that  the  man 
who  is  born  with  a  loyal  nature  pays  as  heavily 
in  fruitless  strivings  after  an  impossible  loyalty, 
as  ever  does  the  disloyal  man  for  those  weird 
inclinations  of  his  towards  treason.  Man's  ideal 
of  justice  is  but  a  poor  affair  placed  beside  this 
implacable  rectitude  of  ruling.  Good  and  evil 
are  after  all  but  different  rays  of  the  same  spec- 
trum, thrown  out  by  the  soul  in  its  efforts  to 
grow. 


CHAPTER  III 

MAJOR  LORAINE  hurried  through  breakfast, 
while  the  dog-cart  that  was  to  take  him  to  a 
favourite  trout  stream  waited  in  the  street  be- 
low. He  was  fond  of  his  daughter,  fonder  of 
sport,  and  having  gathered  up  his  rod  and  fish- 
ing tackle,  he  kissed  Rachel,  ran  down  the  stairs, 
jumped  into  the  dog-cart  and  drove  off.  Jeffrey, 
who  seldom  criticised  his  neighbours,  felt,  as  he 
watched  Major  Loraine's  departure,  something 
not  unlike  scorn  for  the  man  and  fathers  in 
general,  a  scorn  Rachel  augmented,  when  a  few 
minutes  later  she  left  the  inn,  and  followed  the 
upward  winding  road  towards  the  forest.  Jef- 
rey  half  rose,  then  sank  back  once  more  in  his 
chair  and  turned  his  face  to  the  sea,  which,  with 
undulating,  sorrowful  sounds,  fretted  round 
and  over  the  distant  shoals. 

Jeffrey  knew  little  of  women :  if  they  had  fig- 
133 


134  THE  BALANCE 

ured  in  his  life  at  all  they  had  figured  inci- 
dentally, and  played  an  unimportant  part.  He 
had  never  loved  a  woman ;  but  woman's  position 
in  a  world  refashioned  by  men  with  a  view 
mainly  to  their  own  needs,  had  often  filled  him 
with  disquietude  and  profound  pity.  Woman, 
for  her  part,  had  regarded  Jeffrey  and  his  atti- 
tude, so  far  as  she  had  troubled  to  regard  either, 
with  a  like  indifference :  his  pity  had  been  thrown 
away  on  her;  his  chivalry  misunderstood;  and 
yet  all  unknown  to  Rachel,  it  was  to  these  pas- 
sions in  the  man  she  had  made  her  first  appeal. 
Unconscious  of  the  tie  she  had  formed,  the 
girl  pursued  her  way  towards  the  forest;  while 
the  delicate  freshness  of  the  spring  breeze  and 
the  grey  arched  heaven  out  of  which  it  came, 
seemed  to  her  but  part  of  a  beautiful  dream 
world  waking  into  melodious  life.  Deep  hid- 
den in  the  silence  of  the  forest  the  cottage 
awaited  her.  A  hesitant  shyness  fell  on  Rachel : 
she  was  thankful  to  the  soft  pine  mould  for 
muffling  the  sound  of  her  approach.  The  cot- 
tage window  stood  open;  raising  herself  she 


THE  BALANCE  135 

peered  in  and  her  eyes  met  Richard's  staring 
hungrily  out.  Rachel  drew  back  among  the 
trees. 

"The  King!    The  King!"  the  child  cried. 

Richard  went  to  him.  uThe  seven  longest 
days  in  the  butcher's  dog's  life  were  of  course 
the  seven  days  before  he  could  see,"  he  remarked, 
raising  the  child  in  his  arms. 

"How  he  must  have  wished  to  see,"  said  the 
child. 

"What  do  you  think  he  wished  to  see  most?" 
asked  Richard. 

"Oh,  himself." 

"He  did,"  admitted  Richard.  "The  first  day 
he  pictured  himself  as  big  as  the  whole  world, 
but  that  was  dull  because  there  was  no  room 
for  any  one  else  to  stand  and  look  at  him,  so  on 
the  second  day  he  made  himself  a  little  smaller, 
not  much  smaller,  just  enough  to  leave  space 
for  a  narrow  rim  all  round  the  world  for  other 
dogs  to  stand  and  gape  at  him." 

"It  is  nice  to  feel  big,"  said  the  child. 

"It  is,"  admitted  Richard,  "but  then  one  has 


136  THE   BALANCE 

to  come  down  in  size  before  one  can  do  anything. 
The  butcher's  dog  found  that  out.  It  vexed 
him  to  think  that  half  the  dogs  in  the  world  had 
only  seen  his  head  and  the  dogs  remaining  over 
had  only  seen  his  tail.  He  wanted  to  turn  round 
and  show  the  dogs  that  had  seen  his  head  his 
tail,  and  the  ones  that  had  seen  his  tail  his 
head." 

"What  a  pity,"  the  child  remarked,  "that  the 
other  dogs  could  not  see  right  round  him." 

"Then,"  said  Richard,  "he  would  never  have 
thought  of  turning  round  himself." 

"Did  he  turn  round?"  asked  the  child 
anxiously. 

"Yes,  on  the  third  day.  But  of  course  he  had 
to  make  himself  a  little  smaller  to  do  it. 

"How  much  smaller?" 

"Not  much.  He  scraped  all  the  other  dogs' 
noses  in  turning.  They  weren't  best  pleased,  but 
he  didn't  mind  that.  The  worst  part  came  after 
he  had  turned  round  three  times,  for  then  he 
wanted  to  walk.  That  of  course  meant  making 
himself  smaller  once  more." 


THE  BALANCE  137 

"How  vexing,"  said  the  child.  "Did  he 
do  it?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Richard.  "He  was  sorry  to 
make  himself  smaller,  but  he  was  glad  to  have 
room  to  walk.  That  was  the  fourth  day.  He 
wasn't  glad  long  though,  for  the  very  next  morn- 
ing he  wanted  to  run  and  there  was  no  room 
to  get  up  pace." 

"Ah !"  exclaimed  the  child,  "how  difficult  it 
is  to  fit  all  you  want  in." 

"Yes,"  Richard  admitted,  "the  butcher's  dog 
had  to  give  up  something  for  everything  he 
took."  Sadness  fell  on  Richard  as  he  made  this 
admission:  raising  his  eyes  he  looked  towards 
the  forest  and  saw  Rachel.  So  quiet  she  stood 
there,  she  might  have  been  a  flower  growing  in 
the  heart-shaped  bed. 

Richard  drew  nearer  to  her.  "For  everything 
he  took  the  butcher's  dog  had  to  give  something 
up,"  he  repeated,  half  in  doubt. 

"Is  the  balance  so  just?"  she  asked;  and  he, 
remembering  all  that  he  had  taken  and  thinking 
on  the  stored  and  argosied  future,  looked  down 
upon  this  woman. 


138  THE  BALANCE 

"Men  pray  that  the  balance  may  not  be  just," 
he  said  hurriedly. 

uHow  big  was  the  butcher's  dog  now?"  cried 
the  child. 

"Not  so  very  much  bigger  than  the  other 
dogs,"  Richard  answered  absently  and  again  he 
looked  at  Rachel. 

None  too  tall,  yet  taller  than  she  seemed,  her 
head  would  have  been  proudly  carried  had  it 
not  been  so  graciously  inclined.  The  darkness 
of  depths  lay  pooled  within  her  eyes,  and  he, 
who  saw  down  into  them,  was  refreshed.  She 
was  not  clever,  but  her  spirit  turned  towards 
the  truth,  as  does  a  flower  to  the  sun;  for  the 
rest,  her  brow  was  broad,  low  and  white,  and 
her  mouth — but  what  matter — it  was  so 
beautiful,  it  angered  Richard  even  to  look  at 
it. 

His  pulse  quickened.  Why  had  she  come, 
this  woman,  disturbing  his  dreams,  and  driving 
his  body  like  a  spear  through  his  soul?  He  al- 
most hated  her.  Then  the  child  spoke.  "You 
are  forgetting  about  the  dog." 


THE  BALANCE  139 

Richard's  face  softened,  and  there  came  into 
it  a  wealth  of  humour  and  tenderness.  "Oh  no, 
I  am  not  forgetting  the  dog,"  he  answered,  "that 
was  the  fifth  day  it  had  been  blind.  The  sixth 
day  he  wanted  to  jump  a  ditch.  The  ditch  did 
for  him.  He  jumped,  opened  his  eyes  just  as 
he  landed  and  found  himself  the  smallest  pup 
in  the  litter." 

"Ah,"  cried  the  child,  "how  terribly  disap- 
pointed he  must  have  been." 

"Well,"  said  Richard,  "he  hadn't  time  to 
think  of  the  disapppointment." 

"How  was  that?"  asked  the  child. 

"He  was  so  occupied  in  looking  about  and 
seeing  things.  The  world  was  bigger  than  he 
had  expected  and  there  were  more  people  in  it, 
and  ever>  dog  and  cat  and  man  and  mouse  he 
met  talked  a  different  language,  and  he  had  to 
learn  their  language  before  he  could  speak  to 
them.  You  see  he  had  to  tell  them  all  about 
himself." 

"Of  course,"  admitted  the  child,  "and  how 
he  had  grown  smaller  and  smaller." 


140  THE  BALANCE 

"Those  that  looked  on  from  outside  thought 
he  had  grown  bigger,"  said  Richard. 

"Which  had  he  done?"  asked  the  child. 

"No  one  will  be  able  to  tell  exactly  what  hap- 
pened to  the  butcher's  dog  till  the  secret  of  the 
whole  universe  is  revealed,"  Richard  answered. 

The  boy  drew  in  a  deep  breath.  "How  big," 
he  said,  "how  very,  very  big." 

Silence  fell  on  them  all,  and  again  Richard's 
eyes  strayed  towards  Rachel.  Her  spirit,  heavily 
shrouded  in  dreams,  seemed  to  have  gone  apart 
and  left  the  body  to  express  its  loveliness 
unaided. 

"She  does  not  think,"  Richard  murmured  to 
himself.  "Nature  thinks  through  her." 

"The  King  I    The  King !"  cried  the  boy. 

Richard  gathered  him  close  in  his  arms,  and 
walking  to  and  fro  strung  nursery  rhymes  to- 
gether and  sang  softly: 

"  Tell  me  a  tale  of  crowns  and  kings, 

Tell  me  a  tale  of  gold, 
Tell  me  a  tale  of  wondrous  things, 
Tell  me  a  tale  of  old. 


THE  BALANCE  141 

"  Tell  me  a  tale  of  deeds  well  done, 

Tell  me  a  tale  of  strife, 
Tell  me  a  tale  of  conquest  won, 
Over  the  ills  of  life. " 

The  boy  slept,  but  Richard,  afraid  to  lay  him 
back  in  the  bed  lest  he  should  wake,  sang  on 
of  things  old  and  new,  of  life  and  death  and 
the  mighty  deeds  of  the  spirit.  Without,  Rachel 
listened;  but  Richard  had  forgotten  her  presence 
and  when  later  he  looked  for  her  she  had  gone ; 
only  two  small  footprints  in  the  heart-shaped 
bed  marked  the  spot  where  she  had  stood.  Dis- 
quietude filled  Richard  at  the  sight  of  those  two 
small  footprints.  He  went  out  and  covered 
them  up.  Hardly  had  he  done  so  before  he 
longed  to  see  the  little  prints  once  more  upon 
the  warm  brown  earth.  Stooping  he  tried  to 
recover  them;  but  the  earth  kept  their  hiding- 
place  secret.  Vexed  he  wandered  through  the 
forest  till  he  came  to  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Even- 
ing was  beginning  to  fall  and  Jeffrey's  great  form 
towered  suddenly  out  of  the  dusk  between  Rich- 
ard and  the  village.  It  seemed  to  block  his  path 


142  THE  BALANCE 

and  thrust  him  back  on  to  alien  lands.    Loneli- 
ness and  resentment  filled  Richard. 

"You  asked  me  to  your  village,"  he  said. 

Jeffrey  did  not  answer;  and  yet  he  felt  that 
his  silence  was  but  an  added  disloyalty. 

"I  have  come,"  said  Richard. 

Still  Jeffrey  did  not  speak  and  Richard  thought 
he  knew  the  reason  of  Jeffrey's  silence.  For  a 
moment  the  two  men  looked  at  one  another,  and 
it  seemed  to  Richard  that  never  before  had 
Jeffrey  met  him  with  a  greater  distrust;  then 
without  a  word,  Jeffrey  went,  and  striding  away, 
was  swallowed  up  in  the  mist. 

Richard  distrusted  himself;  but  it  is  when  we 
trust  ourselves  least  that  we  would  have  those 
we  love  trust  us  most,  and  Jeffrey's  defection 
was  bitter  to  bear.  Such  a  storm  swept  across 
the  shallows  of  Richard's  soul  that  in  truth  it 
was  small  wonder  the  man  thought  himself  far 
out  at  sea.  Richard's  anger  gathered  and  he 
hated  woman,  the  cause  of  all  his  trouble.  What 
had  woman  ever  brought  him  but  thirst  and 
anguish,  humiliation  and  shame?  She  had  no 


THE   BALANCE  143 

part  or  lot  in  all  that  was  beautiful  in  his  life, 
in  all  that  was  of  worth.  He  hated  her  and 
her  puny  intellect;  her  pygmy  soul.  Night 
closed  in  around  him;  little  points  of  colour 
showed  where  the  village  lay  warm  against  the 
hill.  Richard  could  almost  see  the  fisher-folk 
sitting  round  their  homely  fires ;  he  could  almost 
hear  the  laughter  and  the  voices.  His  soul  went 
out  in  exile,  and  there  was  none  to  comfort  her; 
none  to  say :  "We  also  are  alone." 

He  drew  near  the  village,  gazed  upon  it,  and 
as  some  famished,  homeless  dog,  tracked  it 
round,  then  hurrying  away  he  came  to  the  black 
rocks.  The  night  was  dark  and  the  wind  blew 
off  shore ;  the  ocean  might  have  been  an  old  pine 
forest,  so  resinous  was  the  air.  Drawing  out  a 
flute,  Richard  began  to  play.  The  silvery  music 
crept  through  the  silence,  and  the  moon,  which 
had  long  lingered,  crossed  the  horizon,  as  if  in 
answer  to  a  call,  and  rising  she  sailed  upwards 
followed  by  a  wavering  greyness.  Her  beau- 
tiful face,  crowned  and  crested  with  all  she  could 
not  do,  was  turned  towards  Richard,  but  to  see 


144  THE  BALANCE 

it  did  not  heal  his  desolation,  and  the  moon 
seemed  to  know  how  ineffectual  was  her  woman- 
hood, and  with  a  travesty  of  faithfulness,  stayed 
on  although  she  was  not  wanted. 

Far  off  Rachel  too  heard  the  melody,  and  find- 
ing it  beautiful  she  drew  nearer  to  it.  Across 
the  sands  the  music  threaded  its  way  straight 
to  the  black  rocks,  and  they  loomed  down  on 
her — lost  ships  at  sea — derelict,  but  not  utterly 
forsaken,  while  the  melody  clung  to  their  ragged, 
broken  sides.  Fear  filled  Rachel;  her  spirit 
trembled  to  drift  so  companioned  in  such  soli- 
tudes. Hurriedly  she  raised  her  eyes,  seeking 
help  from  she  knew  not  whom,  and  saw,  look- 
ing down  on  her,  Richard. 

"I  thought,"  she  said,  "that  the  children  of 
Ruel  were  playing  on  the  rocks." 

"Who  are  the  children  of  Ruel?" 

"They  are  fairies,"  she  answered,  "and  their 
music  is  honey-sweet." 

He  laughed.  "Did  the  music  sound  sweet?" 
he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  said. 


THE  BALANCE  146 

"It  came  from  a  bitter  heart,"  he  returned 
harshly. 

Hurt  at  having  thus  intruded  on  him,  Rachel 
drew  back.  "Strangers  make  such  foolish  mis- 
takes. Do  they  not  ?"  she  said,  and  turned  back 
towards  the  inn,  and  he  peered  after  her,  till 
night,  as  the  belated  fall  of  wings  closed  over 
and  hid  her  from  view. 

A  sigh  burst  from  him.  He  despised  women ; 
he  despised  that  part  of  his  nature  to  which  they 
appealed ;  he  despised  them  for  appealing  to  it ; 
he  had  got  nothing  from  them  but  soilure, — and 
yet  how  beautiful  this  woman  was;  with  what 
compelling  force  she  drew  him :  she  had  but  to 
show  herself  and  every  pulse  in  his  body  bade 
him  follow  her.  Suddenly  he  remembered  that 
the  dying  boy  had  need  of  him.  He  would  go 
to  the  boy ;  he  would  forget  the  woman. 


CHAPTER  IV 

RAIN  followed  with  the  night  tide,  and  fell 
heavily  throughout  the  following  day :  the  wind 
blew  in  gusts,  which,  growing  more  frequent  as 
the  hours  went  on,  ended  at  last  in  a  steady,  pro- 
longed moan.  Major  Loraine  tapped  the 
barometer  for  the  third  time,  and  for  the 
third  time  receiving  the  same  answer,  coun- 
termanded the  dog-cart,  and  reconciled  him- 
self to  a  day  spent  indoors.  He  looked  up 
his  diary  to  see  what  flies  he  had  used,  what 
luck  he  had  on  that  day  a  year  back;  and  but- 
ton-holing Jeffrey  confided  the  whole  tale  of  ad- 
venture to  him;  together  with  the  exact  weight 
of  the  fish  caught  and  a  less  exact  surmise  as 
to  the  weight  of  the  fish  hooked  but  not  landed. 
Jeffrey,  who  from  where  he  sat  could  see  Rachel 
standing  in  the  porch,  listened  patiently  till  a 
break  came  between  the  showers,  and  the  girl 

146 


THE  BALANCE  147 

went  down  the  steps  and  disappeared;  then  he 
grew  restless,  changed  his  chair  to  one  nearer 
the  window,  and  caught  sight  of  her  again  on 
the  beach. 

The  sea  was  out:  a  mass  of  white  foam 
careered  across  the  glistening  sands,  chasing  the 
girl :  while  her  dress,  twisted  round  her  slender, 
supple  form  by  the  wind,  gave  her  the  appear- 
ance of  being  caught  in  a  wave.  A  desire  came 
to  Jeffrey  to  be  out  in  the  wind  and  spume  with 
Rachel :  he  longed  to  pitch  Major  Loraine  into 
the  middle  of  one  of  his  own  stories  and  leave 
him  to  wind  a  way  out  as  best  he  could:  then 
suddenly  he  lost  sight  of  Rachel  behind  the  black 
rocks.  Making  an  absurd  excuse,  Jeffrey  took 
his  hat  and  went. 

The  air  was  cold:  a  shower  half  rain,  half 
sleet,  came  like  a  dark  shadow  over  the  sea  and 
hissed  itself  out  on  the  sands :  the  wind  caught  his 
hat  and  sent  it  trundling  through  a  dozen  pools, 
and  him  schoolboy  fashion  after;  but  the  joy  of 
life  filled  him  and  he  felt  wildly,  madly  exhilarat- 
ed. He  tore  along,  trying  to  outrace  the  wind; 


148  THE  BALANCE 

rushed  up  and  over  the  black  rocks,  and  saw 
Rachel.  She  stood  near  the  sea  edge.  A  great 
flock  of  grey  gulls  had  settled  near  her  feet. 
Rising  they  shot  out  fan-shaped  so  that  she  stood 
against  a  background  of  beating  wings.  Jeffrey 
held  his  breath.  To  him  it  seemed  as  if  the  girl's 
spirit  had  been  brooding  on  that  grey  waste  of 
water  and  that  he  had  startled  it.  The  flut- 
tering wings  beat  the  air  and  then  sank  down 
once  more  upon  the  water. 

A  sigh  of  relief  burst  from  Jeffrey,  and  as  it 
trembled  shivering  away  on  the  wind,  love  was 
born  in  him.  It  came — a  reticence,  a  shyness; 
and  a  passionate  longing  to  protect  the  woman 
he  loved, — and  the  woman  he  loved  was  Rachel. 
He  turned  towards  the  cliffs  that  rose  abrupt 
and  black,  and  scaled  their  slippery  sides,  pos- 
sessed by  a  curious  notion  that  he  was  walking 
up  a  flight  of  steps.  A  big  cloud  burst  into  icy 
rain;  but  he  did  not  feel  the  rain,  and  driven 
blindly  forward  he  entered  the  forest,  coming 
at  last  to  the  cottage.  A  sound  fell  on  his  ears. 
It  was  Richard's  voice.  For  a  moment  Jeffrey 


THE  BALANCE  149 

stood  listening,  then  walked  heavily,  almost  lum- 
beringly,  towards  the  cottage,  and  Richard,  rec- 
ognising his  footstep,  met  him  at  the  door.  The 
two  men  stood  and  scrutinised  each  other. 
Jeffrey  had  hardened  into  sudden  manhood; 
but  Richard  had  stepped  back  to  youth  in  his 
boyish  longing  for  Jeffrey's  love  and  trust. 

"Come  in,  Jeff,"  he  said. 

"I  want  you  out  here,"  Jeffrey  answered,  and 
Richard  came  to  him. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"Let  us  go  farther  away,"  said  Jeffrey,  and 
hurried  off  as  if  all  that  he  had  to  disclose  lay 
beyond  the  border  of  the  forest.  The  path  led 
farther  and  farther  from  the  village ;  but  noth- 
ing would  have  made  Jeffrey  turn  just  then, 
and  Richard,  following  after  the  huge,  clumsy 
figure  stumbling,  crashing  through  the  under- 
growth, knew  better  than  to  try  and  make  him 
turn.  At  last  the  forest  thinned  and  the  path 
opened  out  on  to  a  broad  grey  road  that  wound 
past  hamlet  and  village  out  to  the  unknown 
world  beyond. 


150  THE  BALANCE 

Jeffrey  pointed  to  it.  "You  must  go,  Richard," 
he  said  hoarsely. 

Richard  grew  stubborn.  The  knowledge 
that  unasked  he  would  have  gone  was  bitter  to 
him.  "I  cannot  go,"  he  said,  "the  boy  needs 
me.  Even  if  he  did  not  need  me  I  would  not 
go  like  this." 

"Richard,  I  ask  you  to  go,"  Jeffrey  re- 
peated. 

"And  I  tell  you  I  will  not  go." 

"You  will  not?" 

"I  will  not,"  said  Richard.  Still,  even  as  he 
spoke,  there  seemed  to  him  that  there  must  be 
in  the  whole  range  of  language  some  simple 
phrase  left  that  would  somehow  and  in  some 
way  disperse  the  darkness  between  himself  and 
Jeffrey.  He  had  juggled  with  words  all  his  life, 
and  now  the  time  had  come  for  them  to  do  him 
a  service.  They  flocked  in  on  him  like  locusts 
and  ate  his  thoughts  bare  to  the  bone,  then  up 
they  rushed  with  their  clattering  wings,  and 
back  they  went  to  the  darkness  out  of  which  they 
came. 


THE  BALANCE  151 

Jeffrey  sought  no  aid  from  words:  he  never 
had  sought  aid  from  words :  he  never  would  seek 
aid  from  them;  but  turning  from  Richard  he 
walked  off  through  the  wood. 

It  seemed  to  Richard  that  his  youth  went  with 
Jeffrey,  and  there  remained  not  even  anger, 
only  bareness  and  hurt.  The  wind  whistling 
through  the  leafless  trees  found  none  so  bare 
as  his  heart.  The  love  of  Richard  for  Jeffrey 
was  the  purest  and  best  passion  his  heart  had 
ever  known.  All  others  it  had  befouled,  this 
it  had  wrapped  in  fragrance  and  kept  inviolate ; 
and  yet  had  a  more  restrained,  a  more  unselfish 
affection  gone  to  the  making  of  it  he  would  not 
have  been  left  thus  dry  mouthed  in  the  desert. 
"Nulla  poena,  quanta  poena,"  and  it  may  be 
that  the  gods  saw  something  of  worth  in  Rich- 
ard, for  they  stripped  him  to  the  bleeding  bones : 
but  strip  him  howsomuch  they  would,  repentance 
they  got  not  from  him,  and  perhaps  for  this 
he  was  held  worthy  of  their  wrath.  Fiercely 
grasping,  or  as  fiercely  giving  up,  his  spirit  never 
mourned  and  moped  along  the  ground  mewling 


152  THE  BALANCE 

over  what  it  had  done,  or  what  it  had  failed 
to  do;  it  never  stayed  to  remember  how  soiled 
and  stained  it  was;  but  born  an  Ishmael,  knew 
not  it  was  an  outcast.  Lonely  and  hungered, 
having  companionship  more  with  ideas  than 
with  men,  had  Richard  journeyed  on,  and  still 
as  he  travelled  for  ever  had  he  thought  that  on 
the  morrow  the  board  would  be  set,  the  feast 
be  ready  and  the  guests  be  called.  He  had  not 
glanced  down  to  see  whether  or  no  he  himself 
were  fitly  garmented;  he  had  not  looked  back 
along  the  road  that  he  had  travelled  to  mark 
the  ruin  and  devastation  following  on  his  heels; 
his  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  Beulah;  he  had  seen 
the  Promised  Land, — before  him  and  beyond, 
attainable  and  unattained,  lay  always  the  victory, 
the  conquest  and  the  kingdom. 

The  wind  blew  bleakly  afer  Richard,  gath- 
ering him  in  its  cold  embrace,  wishing  to  remind 
him  how  empty  was  its  companionship;  but  he 
did  not  heed  it;  he  was  thinking  of  the  far-off 
morrow. 

He  reached  the  cottage;  night  fell  and  the 


THE  BALANCE  153 

wind  rose  to  a  gale.  The  gulls  fled  shrieking 
over  the  forest  inland,  and  the  distant  trampling 
of  the  sea  upon  the  beach  mingled  with  the  tur- 
moil of  sound.  Only  the  dying  boy  slept.  Mo- 
ment by  moment,  as  the  woman  knelt  and 
watched  him,  he  slipped  casually  into  deeper 
repose. 

At  last  she  raised  her  eyes  to  Richard's  face. 
"Speak  to  un,"  she  commanded  harshly.  Rich- 
ard took  her  hands  in  his:  and  the  child  slept 
on. 

Colder  and  wilder  grew  the  night.  Once 
more  the  woman  became  restless;  but  just  as 
she  was  about  to  speak,  the  child,  dreaming  of 
some  pleasant  thing,  smiled,  and  she  resumed 
her  watch. 

Far  off  behind  the  darkness  was  the  dawn: 
and  the  dying  boy  seemed  to  await  it,  so  calm 
and  unperturbed  he  lay.  It  was  the  woman 
who  after  long  unyielding  had  grown  suddenly 
flustered;  it  was  she  who  forestalled  separation, 
and  peopled  the  moments  with  misdoubt: 
womanlike,  she  would  have  had  him  wait  at 


154  THE  BALANCE 

least  till  the  storm  was  past;  she  could  not  but 
remember  that  he  was  only  a  child,  and  the  way 
long  and  dark. 

"He  ain't  never  had  no  experience,"  she  kept 
on  mumbling. 

The  boy,  well  in  mind  to  be  off,  foul  or  fair, 
when  the  hour  sounded,  cared  not  a  jot  for  her 
fears,  but  slumbered  on. 

In  her  distress  she  turned  to  Richard. 
"Do  'ee  reckon  the  wind's  falling  a  bit?"  she 
asked. 

But  the  bars  across  the  door  rattled  mock- 
ingly. 

Again  and  again  the  storm  shook  the  cottage, 
as  if  angered  that  the  child  dallied  over  going. 
It  seemed  about  to  drive  death  willy-nilly  in 
upon  the  lad. 

"Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us!"  muttered  the 
woman,  stretching  out  her  arms  above  her 
child. 

Richard  looked  at  King  Pain's  Henchman, 
lying  there  so  stalwartly  unafraid,  then  at  the 
terrified  woman,  while  quietly  through  the  tur- 


THE  BALANCE  165 

moil  broke  the  dawn.    Opening  his  eyes,  the  boy 
sprang  upright. 

'The  King!    The  King!"  he  cried,  and  smil- 
ing fell  back  dead. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  storm  went  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come, 
leaving  an  overcast  sky  and  falling  rain. 
Draggled  and  flustered,  the  sea-birds  beat  back 
once  more  to  sea ;  some  never  coming  back,  hav- 
ing lost  their  way  far  inland. 

The  village,  without  the  harsh  cry  of  the  wind, 
seemed  silent  to  Rachel:  little  human  sounds, 
the  clattering  feet  of  the  fishermen  and  children 
on  the  cobble-stones ;  man's  daily  work,  his  worn, 
complicated  passions  were  all  too  trivial  and  too 
unimpressive  to  disturb  the  quietness  which  had 
followed  on  the  storm.  Nature,  for  the  moment, 
had  ceased  to  thumb  man  into  shape,  but  had 
left  him  one  small  thing  among  many  in  apparent 
freedom;  yet  to  such  good  use  did  the  village 
put  the  moment,  so  bent  was  it  on  carrying  out 
purposes  formed  in  other  and  leisurer  hours,  so 
full  of  life  it  was  and  will,  that  Nature  had  been 
156 


THE  BALANCE  167 

hardly  wise  in  giving  the  little  thing  so  much 
rope  unless  she  had  meant  that  some  day  it  was 
to  lead  a  self-controlled,  a  self-shaped  existence. 
Watching  the  village  one  felt  that  if  man  ceased 
to  dream  he  yet  would  hope  again.  Rachel's 
book  had  slipped  from  her  knee  on  to  the  ground, 
and  the  sun,  breaking  through  the  clouds,  the 
shadows  of  Spring,  softer  than  the  shadows  of 
other  seasons,  played  around  and  over  the  girl. 
She  looked  herself  a  child  of  Spring  and  shadow, 
a  freshness,  a  reflection,  a  mirage  of  a  peaceful 
hour :  and  yet  Rachel  seemed  more  at  peace  than 
in  truth  she  was.  She  was  thinking  of  Richard 
and  his  trouble.  His  spirit  she  felt  was  made 
for  war;  he  was  a  born  Henchman  of  King  Pain. 
Glancing  upwards  at  the  forest  which,  half 
shrouded  in  mist,  looked  gloomier  than  ever,  she 
almost  caught  the  sound  of  Apollyon's  cry  to 
Christian:  "Here  will  I  spill  thy  soul." 

For  a  moment  her  heart  thrilled,  then  she 
smiled  at  herself,  and  Jeffrey,  who  was  sitting 
near,  asked  her  why  she  smiled. 

"I  was  thinking,"   she  said,   "the  strangest 


158  THE  BALANCE 

things  about  some  one  I  scarcely  know  at  all." 
And  again  she  looked  at  the  forest.  "It  is  so 
big,"  continued  Rachel  softly,  "that  only  the 
henchman  of  King  Pain  can  wander  in  it  with- 
out being  afraid,"  and  once  more  she  smiled  at 
her  thoughts. 

"Those  tales  are  nothing  but  words,"  Jeffrey 
returned;  his  face  white,  harsh  and  impatient. 

"What  matter;  they  are  beautiful." 

"I  have  grown  to  hate  words,"  he  said  in 
a  dull  voice. 

Rachel  looked  at  him.  His  mind,  she  thought, 
was  as  clumsy  as  his  body.  "I  have  never  known 
big  things,  so  I  delight  in  little,  unimportant 
things  like  words,"  she  answered. 

"And  I  have  grown  to  hate  them,"  repeated 
Jeffrey  in  the  same  dull,  even  voice.  His  thoughts 
were  lumps  of  pain  and  shot  out  like  a  load 
of  stones  from  a  tipped-up  cart.  She  did  not 
answer,  but,  taking  her  book,  began  to  read, 
and  Jeffrey  saw  from  the  title  that  not  only  was 
it  one  of  Richard's,  but  it  was  also  one  that 
was  least  worthy  of  the  man. 


THE  BALANCE  159 

It  hurt  Jeffrey  to  see  her  read  the  book.  It 
was  almost  as  if  Richard  had  already  put  out 
a  soiled  hand  and  touched  her.  Rachel  was 
conscious  of  Jeffrey's  disapproval,  and  a  cold, 
distant  expression  came  into  her  face  and  body ; 
she  did  not  stir,  and  yet  she  seemed  to  remove 
herself  far  from  him.  "I  have  read  this  book 
once,"  she  said,  "and  am  about  to  read  it  again." 

He  could  do  nothing ;  he  could  not  even  make 
the  situation  less  ridiculous,  but  sat  there  rigid 
and  silent  while  Rachel  turned  page  after  page. 
He  might  have  been  a  great  milestone  marking 
off  the  distance  between  himself  and  this  woman 
he  loved.  The  words  on  the  page  crept  together 
and  the  corners  of  Rachel's  mouth  twitched;  she 
felt  inclined  to  be  sorry  for  the  man,  but  much 
more  inclined  to  laugh  at  him.  She  put  the 
book  down.  "Shall  I  confess  that  I  don't  under- 
stand the  book  in  the  least?"  she  said  and  smiled. 

Jeffrey  did  not  even  return  the  smile ;  he  only 
looked  gloomily  at  her,  like  an  owl  daylight 
blinded.  She  became  impatient,  and  rising  went 
nearer  to  the  window. 


160  THE  BALANCE 

"How  it  rains,"  she  said,  uhow  it  longs  to 
wash  us  all  away,  and  how  we  cling  in  our 
miserable  little  shells  to  the  earth."  She  turned 
and  faced  him.  He  looked  bigger  than  ever, 
and  formless  in  the  grey  dusk,  his  gigantic  body 
stretched  out  morass-like,  swallowing  up  the 
ground.  "Why  do  we  all  cling  so  tight  to 
earth?"  she  asked. 

A  man  has  many  reasons  for  clinging  to  life; 
yet  Jeffrey  could  remember  but  one.  He  did 
not  give  it.  "I  cannot  tell  you,"  he  said. 

Rachel's  calm,  untroubled  gaze  rested  on  him. 
She  did  not  expect  to  get  news  from  this  clown 
of  a  man. 

"Find  me  some  answer,"  she  said  lightly. 

He  drew  his  long  legs  under  him  and  stood 
up.  "There  is  no  answer." 

"I  think  I  could  find  a  thousand,"  she  re- 
turned, and  went  away. 

Darkness  laid  hands  upon  the  earth,  and  the 
rain  fell  through  it  with  a  soft,  fluting  sound. 
All  night  Jeffrey  heard  the  music,  and  always 
it  sang  the  same  words  to  the  same  tune.  "Be- 


THE  BALANCE  161 

cause  we  love,"  it  fluted,  "because  we  love." 
At  dawn  it  went  out  crying  with  the  tide  and 
Jeffrey  slept. 

So  many  pleasant  faces  has  the  Spring  she 
must  carry  a  merrier  heart  than  the  other  sea- 
sons ;  or  perhaps  it  is  because  her  legs  are  younger 
that  she  manages  thus  to  spin  round  from  grave 
to  gay,  from  tears  to  laughter  between  two  wood 
notes  of  a  bird.  In  the  Spring  we  know  the 
fairies  are  born,  elves  hold  weddings,  birds  hatch 
eggs,  and  Love's  about.  No  romping  cupid,  but 
a  shy  fellow  is  this  same  Love  that  haunts  the 
Spring.  He  casts  his  spells  upon  the  frozen 
dawn,  and  at  once  the  lapwing  will  forget  her 
ready  speech,  and  break  into  a  wild  and  unfa- 
miliar cry.  Men  have  rather  felt  his  presence 
than  seen  him ;  but  it  is  for  him  that  the  curlew, 
spreading  broad  her  green  wings,  hurries  inland 
after  her  mate. 

Five  days  had  the  Spring  called  to  Rachel  be- 
fore she  turned  and  looked  dreamily  at  the  forest. 
Again  Spring  called,  and  Rachel  began  to  climb 
the  hill.  The  sunlight  followed  her,  then  gath- 


162  THE  BALANCE 

ering  for  the  effort  leapt  through  a  torrent  of 
colour  into  the  forest,  and  as  some  frail  and 
beautiful  spirit  it  flickered  after  her  through  the 
desolate  wood,  where,  ravaged  by  the  storm,  the 
trees  hung  about  each  other's  necks  like  a  pack 
of  weeping  women.  Rachel  came  at  length  to 
a  great  wind-torn  glade,  at  the  end  of  which  was 
the  cottage,  despoiled  of  roof  and  forsaken. 
Standing  near  the  abject,  helpless  thing  was 
Jeffrey.  It  gaped  wide  for  pity ;  but  a  torrential 
gladness  poured  from  Jeffrey's  heart  that  Rich- 
ard was  gone.  He  took  a  few  steps  forward 
and  saw  Rachel.  She  paid  no  heed  to  his  pres- 
ence, but  stared  at  the  empty,  tenantless  house. 
Jeffrey  drew  nearer;  it  seemed  to  him  that  she 
must  know  how  good  was  the  fortune  that  had 
befallen  her;  instead  she  turned  on  him  the  most 
desolate  face  he  had  ever  seen. 

4 'While  we  were  thinking  of  other  things  the 
child  died,"  she  said.  He  had  forgotten  the 
child;  but  her  mention  of  it  rid  him  of  his  dis- 
may. 

She  looked  across  at  the   deserted  cottage. 


THE  BALANCE  163 

"Yes,  he  and  your  friend  gone  too/'  she  con- 
tinued, her  voice  full  of  regret. 

"He  has  gone,"  repeated  Jeffrey. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  admitted  simply. 

"Why  are  you  sorry?" 

"I  don't  know  why, — perhaps  because  the 
things  that  he  said  were  beautiful.  He  was  not 
like  most  men  at  all." 

"You  found  him  then — "  Jeffrey  stopped 
short, — "very  different,"  he  ended  feebly. 
Something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  made  Rachel 
glance  at  him ;  his  face  was  turned  away,  but  his 
body,  she  thought,  looked  as  if  it  had  been  hastily 
heaped  together  with  a  spade.  There  rose  be- 
fore her  eyes  a  vision  of  Richard,  frail,  delicate 
— half  lost  in  the  wastes  of  the  big  wooden  chair. 

"Cannot  you  remember  how  helpless  we  all 
were  till  he  came?"  she  asked  sharply. 

He  remembered  but  did  not  say  so;  he 
could  not  bandy  cheap  praise  of  the  man  he 
had  shaken  off  like  so  much  dirt  and  she,  not 
waiting  for  his  answer,  walked  off  through  the 
wood,  Jeffrey  following.  The  path  began  to 


164  THE   BALANCE 

slope  downwards,  and  after  a  few  moments 
Rachel  halted  beside  a  small  pool  in  the  shadow 
of  a  rock. 

"The  Wishing  Well,"  she  observed.  "Have 
you  a  wish?" 

He  grew  suddenly  white,  opened  his  mouth 
in  a  way  that  put  her  in  mind  of  one  of  her 
father's  ploughmen,  and  said  not  a  word. 

"If  you  have  a  wish,"  she  continued  mock- 
ingly, "you  must  hand  it  on  to  me,  and  I  must 
put  it  in  the  well  for  you." 

"How?"  he  jerked  out. 

"Wrap  it  up  in  your  hand,  and  put  it  into  my 
hand,  of  course." 

"Oh!"  he  said,  but  he  did  not  stir. 

"Well?"  (He  remained  stuck  in  silence  like 
an  ox-waggon  in  a  quagmire.)  "I  believe,"  she 
observed,  "that  your  wish  is  so  valuable  that  you 
are  afraid  to  trust  me  with  it." 

He  suddenly  smiled  the  most  beautiful  smile 
she  had  ever  seen  on  the  face  of  man  or  woman. 
"That  is  the  truth,"  he  said.  She  laughed  a  little 
perplexed  laugh  and  walked  on.  Jeffrey  did  not 


THE  BALANCE  165 

stir.  He  might  indeed  have  been  a  son  of  the 
soil  so  dumb  were  his  thoughts ;  he  might  indeed 
have  been  born  to  labour  through  the  long  hours 
of  day,  and  see  at  even  his  work  passed  unnoticed 
by.  He  knew  that  Rachel  did  not  love  him; 
he  knew  that  never  in  this  world  would  she  so 
much  as  stay  and  attentively  regard  him :  but  his 
love  for  her  was  planned  on  a  big  scale,  and  had 
in  it  something  of  the  slow  wheeling  eternities, 
and  he  could  afford  to  wait. 

Finding  after  a  moment  that  Jeffrey  had  not 
followed,  Rachel  felt  glad  and  forgot  all  about 
him,  content  to  fill  her  mind  with  thoughts  of 
Richard.  She  could  not  believe  that  she  would 
never  meet  Richard  again ;  and  as  she  wandered 
through  the  wood,  startling  the  hares  and  send- 
ing the  rabbits  bobbing  for  cover,  she  kept  look- 
ing for  Richard;  but  the  forest  was  empty  of 
his  presence.  At  last  she  came  out  on  a  road 
bare  but  for  creaking  carts  and  buxom  country- 
women; and  the  winding,  patient,  grey  thing, 
which  had  been  trodden  under  so  much,  led  her 
to  a  moor.  Desolate  and  vast,  its  emotion  hid- 


166  THE   BALANCE 

den  beneath  an  austere  quietude,  the  moor  lay 
as  some  outpost  to  another  world.  It  seemed 
made  for  man's  spirit  and  not  for  his  tired  feet 
to  travel  over;  but  Rachel  crossed  it  and  reached 
at  last  the  sea.  Sinking  down,  she  laid  her  face 
against  the  rocks:  she  felt  very  young,  very 
weary,  and  the  world  was  emptier  than  it  had 
a  right  to  be,  seeing  that  so  many  people  lived 
in  the  world.  Turn  which  way  she  would  there 
was  always  some  one  that  she  did  not  want  to 
meet,  and  even  as  Rachel  sat  and  tried  to  rest 
she  could  hear  the  sound  of  a  heavy,  clumsy  tread 
upon  the  rocks,  and  she  knew  that  she  had  but 
to  look  up  to  see  Jeffrey.  At  a  little  distance 
from  her  he  halted,  waiting  for  her  to  need  him. 
Why  did  he  stand  there,  she  thought,  so  big  and 
fooolish?  He  reminded  her  of  a  wingless  bird. 

"Are  you  tired?"  he  asked. 

He  might  have  known  that  she  was  very  tired, 
or  she  would  have  found  some  way  to  escape 
his  presence. 

"The  world  is  too  full  and  too  empty,"  she 
exclaimed  with  petulance. 


THE  BALANCE  167 

"I  know  that,1'  he  answered.  "I  have  known 
it  many  days.'* 

She  looked  tiredly  at  him.  How  did  he 
know  it?  He  looked  big  enough  to  fill  three 
worlds  and  lap  over  into  a  fourth.  "Well,"  she 
said, trying  to  smile,  "if  you  know  it,  why  is  it?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you,"  he  said. 

Rachel  scrambled  on  to  her  feet.  "You  have 
the  same  answer  for  everything,"  she  exclaimed, 
"and  it  isn't  enlightening." 

There  came  into  his  face  an  infinite  sadness, 
a  vast  solemnity.  He  looked  as  if  he  could  have 
answered  her  question  with  the  best  had  there 
been  no  such  things  as  words. 

"We  love,  and  are  not  loved;  or  we  love  and 
are  loved;  the  whole  of  life  is  contained  in  that," 
he  said. 

His  silence  did  not  trouble  her.  She  would 
have  found  it  as  reasonable  to  have  taken  les- 
sons in  dancing  from  a  bear,  as  to  have  learned 
of  life  from  Jeffrey.  She  laughed  a  little  tired 
laugh. 

"Let  us  go  back  to  the  inn,"  she  said.     "I 


168  THE  BALANCE 

am  sure  tea  will  make  us  both  wiser,"  and  she 
started  at  a  hurried  pace  across  the  sands. 

A  narrow  verandah  ran  round  three  sides  of 
the  inn,  and  when  Rachel  and  Jeffrey  drew  near 
the  house  they  saw  Richard  blowing  bubbles 
from  a  long  clay  pipe.  Up  and  down  the  man 
gently  chased  the  diaphanous,  light-burdened 
bubbles ;  they  might  have  been  so  many  pellucid 
thoughts  blown  from  his  brain;  the  flowers  of 
some  dialogue  held  betweeen  his  spirit  and 
himself. 

Rachel's  tiredness  left  her;  she  went  eagerly, 
smilingly  up  the  steps.  She  was  glad  that  men 
and  women  were  still  children,  and  that  the 
world,  nursery-like,  was  full  of  ups  and  downs. 
If  Richard  had  a  reason  for  coming,  Rachel  did 
not  trouble  to  seek  it  out.  It  was  enough  that 
he  had  come;  and  yet  no  wish  to  see  her  had 
brought  him,  only  bravado  and  bitterness. 


CHAPTER  VI 

GOUT  set  its  chalky  teeth  into  Major  Loraine's 
right  foot,  and  he  lay  with  his  leg  sunk  in  cush- 
ions and  his  temper  hopping  and  skipping  at  the 
end  of  control  much  after  the  fashion  of  an 
enraged  dog  on  a  chain.  A  pile  of  Richard's 
books  had  come  from  the  library  and  in  a  short 
half-hour  had  been  classed,  judged  and  disposed 
of:  one  lay  a-sprawl  in  the  fireplace  as  "damned 
nonsense";  another,  labelled  "infernal  nest  of 
maggots,"  sat  with  half  its  pages  out  striding 
a  screen;  a  third,  "mere  dung,"  had  been  ar- 
rested on  its  flight  streetwards  by  the  verandah 
rails;  the  fourth,  condemned  as  "the  work  of 
an  ass,"  had  followed  the  innkeeper  out  of  the 
room,  pressing  hard  against  his  coat  tails  and 
leaving  him  in  doubt  whether  he  were  or  were 
not  the  subject  of  the  Major's  malediction. 

A  soft  rain  had  been  falling,  but  went  seaward 

169 


170  THE  BALANCE 

with  the  tide,  and  Rachel,  taking  her  hat-crept 
quietly  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the  inn.  The 
shore  was  wrapt  in  haze,  but  the  forest,  distinct 
and  dark,  capped  the  hill  like  a  great  plumed 
helmet.  Rachel  climbed  upwards  till  she  reached 
the  Wishing  Well,  then  pausing  she  gazed  into 
the  quiet  green  waters.  She  wondered  to  her- 
self what  she  would  have  asked  of  the  little  well 
if  she  had  believed  in  its  powers  to  grant  her 
wish;  and  as  she  wondered  she  blushed.  Rich- 
ard drew  near  and  looked  at  the  girl.  So  young 
she  looked,  so  innocent,  so  fresh ;  all  his  troubles 
were  swallowed  up  in  the  joy  that  she  lived,  and 
that  the  sweet  Spring  air  that  breathed  around 
her  breathed  also  on  him. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  "what  you  see  in  the 
well." 

Instead  of  answering,  Rachel  raised  her 
startled  eyes  to  his,  and  it  seemed  to  Richard 
and  Rachel  that  somewhere  up  among  the  hid- 
den stars  the  great  pendulum  of  the  Universe 
paused  in  its  stroke. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  again. 


THE  BALANCE  171 

She  looked  down  half-shyly,  half-afraid,  as 
if  she  thought  love  itself  might  be  reflected 
there. 

"Well,"  he  exclaimed  impatiently. 

"My  own  reflection/1  she  answered. 

"Leave  it  there  for  me  to  find." 

"I  cannot.    If  I  go  it  goes  with  me." 

"Then  do  not  go,"  he  said,  and  drawing  close 
they  gazed  each  at  the  reflection  of  the  other's 
face.  A  shiver  ran  through  them,  and  for  one 
memorable  moment  neither  their  bodies  nor 
their  spirits  knew  whether  they  would  tremble 
closer  together  or  apart;  but  the  hard  and 
hurrying  moments  separated  them,  and  as  chil- 
dren who  had  stayed  out  too  long  they  turned 
breathlessly  and  tried  by  much  hastening  to  get 
back  to  the  inn,  where  all  along  they  knew  they 
should  have  been. 

"La,  Miss,"  said  the  innkeeper's  wife,  when 
with  guilty  hurry  they  entered,  "the  Major's  bell 
has  been  ringing  this  half-hour,  and  there  isn't 
one  pusson  in  the  house  that  dares  take  upon 
hisself  to  answer  it." 


172  THE   BALANCE 

Rachel  ran  lightly  up  the  stairs,  and  Richard 
went  out  once  more  among  the  hills.  The  sun 
was  up;  a  hideous  plainness  lay  on  every- 
thing. 

What  was  this  thing  that  he  had  done? 
How  came  he  to  have  done  it?  He  had  meant 
to  keep  so  far  apart  from  Rachel, — Rachel,  the 
woman  that  Jeffrey  loved, — but  now  it  had  grown 
hard  even  to  leave  her  for  a  moment.  Despair 
fell  upon  Richard,  just  as  despair  had  fallen  on 
him  many  times  before.  Always,  always,  love 
came  to  him  thus:  never  did  he  see  it  from  afar, 
beautiful  and  serene — a  mountain  gushing  with 
streams  of  life;  but  ever  it  came  an  inundation, 
a  swirling,  hurrying  rush,  a  hideous  going  down. 
There  is  for  the  soul  no  darker  hour,  no  chiller 
moment  than  the  one  which  breeds  the  hideous 
suspicion  that  for  her  also  an  orbit  is  fixed;  and 
that  turn  she  ever  so  willingly  she  shall  never 
come  nearer  to  the  sun.  Such  a  moment  almost 
dawned  for  Richard  then,  almost,  but  for  him 
at  least  it  never  quite  dawned.  If  it  had,  his 


THE  BALANCE  173 

spirit  would  have  gently  powdered  away  into 
dust. 

A  sudden  fear  of  thinking,  a  warning  against 
looking  too  closely  into  his  own  mind  and  heart 
beset  Richard — a  dim  horror  of  a  present  that 
could  so  repeat  the  past,  so  counterfeit  all  that 
he  would  not  willingly  see  again. 

A  woman  crept  towards  him,  a  mighty  faggot 
of  sticks  upon  her  back.  Aged  she  was,  and 
bent,  and  worn  with  toil,  she  might  have  been 
Time  himself.  To  look  at  her  was  to  under- 
stand that  soilure,  repentance,  tears,  all  things 
are  passing  away.  Richard  could  hear  her 
groaning  beneath  her  load;  her  short,  laboured 
breathing  and  her  heavy  sighs. 

"Your  son,"  he  said,  "has  forgotten  to  carry 
your  sticks,"  and  he  took  the  faggot  from  her. 

"My  son  has  been  dead  these  twenty  years," 
answered  the  woman,  "and  I  could  wish  that 
he  had  lived  to  make  old  bones." 

"What  is  old  age  like?"  asked  Richard. 

"Old  age  is  like  a  coat,  and  made  by  the  man 
who  wears  it." 


174  THE  BALANCE 

"I  see  myself,"  said  Richard,  "beggared  and 
in  rags." 

"It  goes  so  with  some,"  replied  the  woman. 

"What  shall  a  man  do  who  cannot  trust 
himself?" 

"He  shall  flee  from  others." 

"Why  should  one  man  have  a  home  if  an- 
other is  an  outcast?" 

The  woman  raised  her  wrinkled  face  and 
looked  into  Richard's. 

"Answer  me  first,  has  a  man  power  or  not 
over  the  working  of  his  own  heart?"  she 
said. 

"None  can  answer  that  question;  none 
know." 

"Get  you  gone,"  she  exclaimed  fiercely. 
"You  cannot  find  God  because  you  will  not." 

"Let  me  but  carry  your  faggot  to  your 
door." 

"Nay,"  said  the  woman,  "I  know  your  breed, 
with  the  same  hand  you  would  carry  the  stran- 
ger's sticks  you  would  rob  your  heart's  friend 
of  his  wife." 


THE  BALANCE  175 

The  faggot  slipped  from  Richard's  shoulders 
on  to  the  ground.  "You  speak  the  truth,"  he 
answered.  "These  hands  have  done  both." 

He  left  her,  and  going  to  a  stream  he  looked 
into  the  water,  and  there  was  reflected  back  for 
him  to  see  his  whole  past  life;  the  ideals  that  he 
had  held  up  for  others,  and  the  deeds  that  he 
himself  had  done.  Richard  found  that  the 
words  that  he  had  said  were  quite  worthy  of 
being  commended ;  but  when  he  came  to  examine 
his  own  deeds  they  were  of  such  bestial  foulness 
that  he  stood  shivering  and  abashed  before  them. 
Suddenly  he  was  visited  by  a  radiant  vision  of 
Rachel's  beauty,  and  flinging  the  memory  of 
his  shame  behind  him  he  ran  towards  the  inn. 
The  wind  blew  after  him  cold  and  barren,  and 
all  the  women  he  had  ever  loved  peered  at  him 
to  see  if  he  were  just  as  a-thirst  for  the  sight  of 
Rachel  as  he  had  been  for  the  sight  of  them. 
Dusk  fell,  but  to  Richard  it  was  not  dark;  he 
thought  he  was  a  tall  flame,  and  the  wind  rising, 
blew  him  towards  the  inn  and  Rachel.  There 
at  the  door,  like  some  god  carved  in  rock  and 


176  THE  BALANCE 

forsaken,  sat  Jeffrey,  his  great  hands  spread 
broad  upon  his  knees;  and  as  the  pariah,  desert 
dog,  jackalling  for  bones,  slinks  past  the  pyra- 
mids, Richard  slunk  past  his  friend  into  the 
house.  Jeffrey  did  not  stir;  perhaps  his  body 
was  tenantless. 

Pale  and  shadowy  against  the  dusk,  Rachel 
turned  at  Richard's  approach  and  they  stood 
leaning  forward  in  frozen  pursuit,  while  the 
twilight  deepening,  blotted  each  from  the  other, 
and  only  the  soft  cry  of  the  wind  throbbed  be- 
tween them.  Richard's  eyes  sought  Rachel  in 
the  darkness.  He  could  not  see  her,  but  her 
beauty  was  close  against  the  shadow,  so  close, 
so  infinitely  closer  than  the  girl  herself  that  its 
petals  seemed  about  to  cast  themselves  in  loveli- 
ness at  his  feet. 

A  harsh  hurried  sigh  escaped  him :  and  with- 
out, Jeffrey  rose  and  came  stumbling  in  like  a 
great  cataclysm  turned  man,  that  was  to  sweep 
them  all  to  a  common  fate.  The  moon  crossed 
the  horizon,  and  its  light  fell  on  Rachel.  Her 
face  was  wet  with  tears;  she  seemed  to  have 


THE  BALANCE  177 

grown  smaller.  Richard  did  not  see  her:  he 
saw  himself, — a  Judas;  he  saw  the  Potter's 
Field;  he  saw  the  forked  tree;  and  turning  he 
went  out  into  the  night. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  night  was  dark,  the  wind  blew  gustily, 
and  the  moon  lost  in  a  great  heaven  of  rushing 
clouds.  Uphill,  down  hill,  this  way,  that  way 
Richard  hurried,  seeking  rest  and  finding  none, 
till  the  tossing  trees  and  the  fleeing  man  seemed 
animated  by  the  same  demonian  spirit.  Watch- 
ing the  man's  poor  storm-driven  body  one  was 
led  for  some  paradoxical  reason  to  think  of 
death.  The  body  one  felt  must  be  a  thing  of 
the  moment,  for  the  moment  to  be  so  big  a 
thing  to  it,  and  one  saw  not  the  hopeless  rush- 
ing forward,  the  terror-stricken  grasping  after 
the  unreachable,  but  rather  the  attained  repose 
of  death, — a  vision  of  the  body  when  the  fierce 
spirit  had  quitted  it.  The  body, — how  calm  it 
lies  then !  Who  having  looked  at  it  thus,  and 
with  purged  eyes,  can  ever  again  see  it  and  be 

178 


THE  BALANCE  179 

unmoved  by  compassion  ?  How  often  the  body 
must  have  echoed  the  soul's  cry,  "You  hurt 
me!" 

UI  am  not,"  it  says,  "the  bestial  thing  you 
take  me  for.  I  could  be  content  with  little." 

uNay,"  answers  the  soul,  uyou  ask  too  much. 
You  yourself  are  your  own  crime.  Your  body 
is  your  sin." 

And  yet  the  soul  is  placable.  She  loves  har- 
monious peace.  It  is  for  that  she  wages  warfare, 
for  that  and  that  alone  does  she  exercise  her 
innate  right  of  resistance  to  sin,  soilure,  death. 

The  doorless  dark  closed  in  on  Richard. 
The  wind  dropped  and  around  him  the  damp 
walls  of  night  dripped  and  dripped.  White  as 
bones  Richard  trod  on,  while  the  earth,  blind 
with  age,  fumbled  about  the  face  of  dawn  trying 
and  in  vain  to  recall  it  by  the  touch.  An  im- 
mense weight  lay  on  Nature,  pressing  her  down. 
She  shivered  in  her  grave  clothes ;  then  she  took 
breath  and  expanding  her  mighty  lungs  she  threw 
off  the  night,  and  it  was  day.  Straight  up  from 
the  earth  a  lark  leapt  heavenward,  scattering  his 


180  THE  BALANCE 

silver  shower  of  song,  till  rhe  dew-laden  gos- 
samers on  the  bents  of  grass  seemed  full  of  sus- 
pended melody.  Deep  in  the  copse  a  thrush 
whistled  three  notes,  then  with  a  shake  of  her 
five  speckled  feathers,  flung  out  a  marvellous 
changing  tune ;  the  swing-song  of  the  blackbird, 
clear,  round,  soft,  swung  in  the  thorn  tree 
branches;  and  there  in  front  of  Richard,  within 
a  hand's  reach  of  him,  was  a  homely  cottage. 

"Open  the  door,"  he  cried  hoarsely.  "Open 
the  door  to  the  Spring." 

A  woman  unbarred  the  door,  flung  it  wide, 
and  he  fell  across  the  threshold.  She  raised 
the  frail  body  in  her  arms — she  might  have  been 
Richard's  mother  and  he  her  wounded  son,  so 
tenderly  did  she  carry  him  in  and  lay  him  on 
the  bed.  His  eyes  remained  fast  shut,  but  some- 
thing told  him  who  the  woman  was. 

"I  have  been  with  devils  the  whole  night 
through,"  he  said. 

"They  can't  come  nigh  'ee  here,"  the  woman 
answered. 

"I  am  tired,"  he  said,  and  sobbed. 


THE  BALANCE  181 

"Then  zlape,"  she  murmured,  "with  the  Lord 
for  friend." 

And  Richard  slept. 

The  woman  drew  the  blind,  letting  the  shad- 
ows rest  on  the  tired  face  worn  with  conflict. 
Pity  and  joy  filled  her;  King  Pain  it  seemed  had 
found  in  Richard  another  henchman,  and  the 
woman  another  son.  For  a  while  she  watched 
him.  He  slept  with  clenched  fists  as  one  who 
had  fallen  asleep  fighting;  but  the  muscles  re- 
laxed, the  hands  opened,  and  the  woman  smiling 
to  herself  went  about  her  work.  From  time  to 
time  she  came  back  to  look  at  him,  and  her 
fierce  old  eyes  were  full  of  savage  tenderness. 
Richard's  nursery  rhymes  jingled  through  her 
memory : 

"  Tell  me  a  tale  of  deeds  well  done, 

Tell  me  a  tale  of  strife, 
Tell  me  a  tale  of  conquest  won 
Over  the  ills  of  life." 

Stooping,  she  unlaced  his  boots,  and  noted 
with  grim  satisfaction  that  he  wore  two  odd 
socks.  "There  is  not  a  man  that  doesn't  need 


182  THE  BALANCE 

a  woman  to  look  after  him,"  she  thought  to 
herself.  His  feet  were  stone  cold,  and  she 
heated  a  great  earthen  jar,  slipped  off  his  socks 
and  wrapped  his  feet  and  the  jar  up  together 
in  a  shawl.  She  laid  her  finger  lightly  on  his 
coat.  It  was  wet,  but  she  feared  to  disturb  him, 
and  trusted  to  sleep  and  youth  to  pull  him 
through.  Such  a  wisp  of  clay  had  been  deemed 
big  enough  to  rag  Richard  round,  that  this 
woman  of  the  soil  could  have  undressed  him  and 
nursed  him  on  her  knee.  Towards  sundown  he 
awoke;  and  when  he  and  the  woman  had  had 
tea,  and  the  hearth  was  brushed,  the  lamp  lit 
and  evening  at  hand,  they  both  drew  closer  round 
the  fire.  A  passionate  longing  to  escape  back 
to  Rachel  filled  Richard,  he  could  no  longer  un- 
derstand his  reasons  for  having  left  her;  he  must 
have  been  mad,  he  thought,  to  throw  away  so 
much  time.  Twisting  his  chair  round  he  stared 
at  the  still  open  door.  It  seemed  to  whisper  to 
him:  "Creep  out,  creep  out  into  the  night  while 
there  is  yet  time." 

A   faint  breeze  blew  the  door  wider  ajar. 


THE  BALANCE  183 

"Creep  out,"  it  whispered,  "creep  out — into  the 
night." 

The  woman  knitted;  click  clack  went  her 
needles;  never  faster,  never  slower  they  moved 
on  their  dull,  even  round.  Click  clack,  turn  a 
row  and  click  clack  again,  click  clack,  click  clack. 
Life  itself,  when  it  has  been  tempered  in  a  fur- 
nace, the  passions  straightened  and  beaten  out 
on  an  anvil,  could  not  hold  to  a  steadier  course. 

An  unreasonable  hatred  of  the  woman  and 
her  needles  came  to  Richard;  she  seemed  in  some 
fashion  or  other  to  be  chaining  him  up  with  her 
endless  stitches;  then  she  raised  her  grim  old 
face  and  looked  at  him. 

"If  she  locks  the  door  I  will  burst  it  open," 
thought  Richard. 

But  the  woman  did  not  stir. 

A  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  swept  over 
Richard,  and  with  it  a  sense  of  his  utter  help- 
lessness and  a  longing  to  seek  aid  from  some  one 
stronger  than  himself. 

"I  am  a  drunkard,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "and 
out  there  is  drink." 


184  THE  BALANCE 

No  sooner  had  he  asked  for  help  than  his 
humiliation  swallowed  up  his  need  of  help,  and 
straightening  himself,  he  turned  and  gazed  sul- 
lenly into  the  fire.  The  woman  went  on  with 
her  knitting,  the  lines  of  her  face  iron  cast  in 
rigidity. 

Richard  wanted  to  humiliate  her  also ;  to  drag 
her  down  into  the  dung  where  he  himself  was :  he 
would  have  liked  to  have  torn  to  rags  her  self- 
respect,  and  thrust  her  dignity  and  reserve  to 
the  door.  He  waited  for  her  to  speak,  but  not 
a  word  did  she  utter. 

"You  were  young  once,"  he  exclaimed. 
"What  did  you  feel  like  then?" 

The  woman's  still  lips  worked,  as  if  words 
came  seldom  and  with  difficulty  from  them. 

"I  have  never  thought  over  what  I  felt,"  she 
answered.  "The  doing  o'  such  has  not  been 
given  to  me." 

Richard  laughed.  "What,"  he  said,  "has 
life  given  you?" 

"It  gave  me  my  man;  and  it  gave  me  my 
lad." 


THE  BALANCE  185 

"Your  husband,"  Richard  asked  harshly, 
"what  of  him?" 

The  woman  was  silent.  She  looked  as  if  the 
Book  of  Life  were  open  before  her  and  she  was 
reading  it  page  by  page. 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Richard,  "what  of  him?" 

"I  ain't  got  the  gift  of  the  teller,"  she  an- 
swered at  last.  "But  he  was  a  plain  man  and 
good  to  stockings." 

The  woman  shamed  Richard,  and  not  Richard 
the  woman ;  and  he  felt  a  cleaner  man  for  hav- 
ing been  thus  put  to  shame  by  her;  but  dirt  and 
soilure  jambed  him  in  on  every  side  and  he  was 
full  of  bitterness. 

"Tell  me,"  he  asked,  "has  God  ever  helped 
you  one  jot?" 

Again  the  woman's  stiff  lips  worked  dully. 
"I  have  not  found  God,"  she  said,  "and  I  reckon 
I  never  shall."  Then  she  went  on  with  her 
knitting,  each  stitch  falling  evenly  into  its  place. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  there  is  no  time  in  this 
world  for  people  of  sense  to  mewl  and  cry  out. 

Night  drew  quickly  on ;  and  she  rose  and  made 


186  THE  BALANCE 

f 

Richard  a  bed  in  the  corner  of  the  kitchen,  then 
she  went  to  the  door  and  looked  up  at  the  great 
heaven  of  stars,  and  for  a  brief  moment  there 
was  given  to  her  fine  old  countenance  the  power 
to  express  that  unquenchable  longing  of  the  soul 
for  God. 

"Who  be  we,"  she  said,  "that  us  should  find 
God?  In  His  very  Presence  we  shall  not  see 
Him.  Aye,  though  His  garments  sweep  us  to 
the  healing  yet  shall  we  not  behold  God  face 
to  face." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THAT  year  Spring  came  hurriedly.  She 
rustled  through  the  woods;  swept  like  a  green 
wave  of  light  over  the  plains,  and  it  seemed  to 
Richard  that  the  birds  sang  as  they  never  had 
sung  before;  and  his  spirit  rested  on  that  quiet 
sea,  which  stretches  out  unbridged  and  innavi- 
gable between  man  and  all  created  things.  It  is 
when  we  are  sick,  sorry  and  ashamed  that  Nat- 
ure heals  us  by  her  aloofness.  We  take  our 
stained  hearts  into  the  woods,  and  the  birds  are 
not  afraid;  they  will  come  as  near  to  us  as  they 
did  before:  they  might  have  learned  unchange- 
ableness  from  God.  We  press  our  faces  down 
upon  the  mossy  grass,  and  the  violet  does  not 
shiver, — nay — it  gives  us  of  its  fragrance.  Yet 
it  would  not  be  true  to  say  that  Richard  felt 
these  things;  his  guilt  had  never  come  close 
187 


188  THE  BALANCE 

enough  home  to  him ;  perhaps  too,  he  had  never 
been  guilty  enough.  The  earth  he  knew  was 
an  irresponsible  earth,  an  irresponsible  sky, — a 
gay  spun  web  of  chance:  he  had  laughed  in  it, 
wept  in  it,  but  he  had  never  been  awed  by  the 
astounding  powers  of  resource  with  which  Nat- 
ure meets  the  demands  made  on  her  by  man's 
spirit.  This,  after  all,  is  only  a  thumb-nail 
sketch  of  man  and  things;  a  trumpery  tip-scale 
and  no  balance.  There  are  women,  lovely  of 
body  as  of  soul,  that  Richard  would  not  have 
dared  to  love  as  he  loved  Rachel;  women,  who 
for  all  the  fire  and  ichor  in  his  blood  and  veins 
he  would  have  feared  to  approach  even  in  his 
thoughts  as  he  had  permitted  himself  to  ap- 
proach her.  They  are  women  who  would  not 
have  been  harsh  of  judgment;  they  would  not 
have  sought  to  wound  him,  and  to  thrust  him 
out  to  the  outer  darkness  of  his  deeds;  rather 
they  would  have  striven  to  heal  the  jagged  tears 
he  had  made  in  his  own  flesh: — yet  their  pres- 
ence would  have  been  a  subtle  gift,  filling  him 
with  that  self-distrust  and  searching  of  heart 


THE  BALANCE  189 

which  is  for  each  one  of  us  the  beginning  of 
righteousness. 

But  Spring  with  its  clattering  heels  made 
Richard  eager  to  be  starting  once  more  upon  his 
journey.  He  longed  to  be  out,  -a  man  among 
men;  out  on  the  warm  Gulf  Stream  of  thought, 
— where  ideas  float  like  so  much  drift  waiting 
to  be  washed  on  fruitful  or  barren  shores,  or 
to  be  left  to  rise  and  fall  and  be  passed  by  un- 
sighted. He  stood  restlessly  turning  over  the 
pages  of  a  big  book,  while  from  far  off  there 
came  the  sound  of  footsteps.  Nearer  came  the 
sound  and  nearer,  a  woman's  step,  little  empty 
shells  of  steps  which  seemed  to  grow  almost 
lighter  and  emptier  the  nearer  they  approached. 
A  fire  sprang  up  in  Richard's  heart ;  and  at  each 
step  the  woman  made  it  was  as  if  a  little  twig 
of  wood  tumbled  into  the  flames.  She  came  to 
the  cottage,  passed  it,  walked  almost  out  of 
hearing  away,  and  then,  possibly  because  she  had 
not  tipped  enough  little  twigs  into  the  fire,  she 
returned  back  again  the  way  she  had  come. 
This  time  she  halted  aVthe  cottage  door,  and 


190  THE  BALANCE 

glancing  in  and  seeing  that  Richard  was  there, 
she  walked  boldly  up  the  steps. 

Richard  did  not  look  at  Rachel.  She  stood 
opposite  him,  the  deal  table  between,  and  on 
it  the  book.  Rachel  drew  the  book  towards  her. 
It  might  well  have  been  called  "The  Great 
Deeds  of  Men,"  and  to  open  it  was  to  be  present 
at  the  discovery  of  new  worlds.  The  history 
of  man  was  written  in  that  book;  the  tale  of  his 
warrings  through  ages  of  strife  and  struggle  on 
towards  pellucid  day.  Rachel,  seeking,  it  may 
be,  for  some  record  of  woman,  casually  turned 
the  pages;  but  of  woman, — she  might  as  well 
never  have  been  born,  the  book  made  no  mention 
of  her  at  all. 

"Has  woman  done  nothing?"  said  Rachel  at 
last,  and  she  looked  at  Richard,  half  smiling, 
half  wistfully.  The  answer  to  the  question 
might  be  what  it  would,  for  its  import  she  cared 
nothing;  but  every  word  that  this  man  said  she 
treasured. 

He  turned  on  her  a  face  so  full  of  anger  and 
scorn  that  if  she  had 'not  loved  him  she  would 


THE  BALANCE  191 

have  been  afraid.  Trembling  a  little,  she  took 
the  big  book  up  and  held  it  close  to  her,  not 
knowing  quite  what  she  was  doing;  yet  still 
conscious  that  she  was  drinking  in  news  of  Rich- 
ard from  his  tired  face  and  angry  eyes.  She 
knew  well  that  she  had  been  more  woman  than 
womanly  in  coming  there  at  all :  but  many  men 
had  loved  her,  and  she  could  not  but  remember 
that  she  was  beautiful. 

"Why  do  you  despise  women?  What  have 
they  done  ?"  she  asked,  her  voice  tailing  off  into 
a  foolish  quiver. 

Richard  walked  a  few  steps  from  her  to  the 
window.  A  dull  resentment  against  fate  began 
to  mix  itself  in  with  his  anger.  There  was,  he 
felt,  an  unreasonable  cruelty,  a  more  than  usual 
hard  capriciousness  in  this  sudden  jambing  him 
up  between  a  brick  wall  and  a  muck-heap.  He 
tried  to  steady  himself;  he  believed  that  if  he 
spoke  he  should  burst  a  way  through  the  wall 
and  shatter  the  woman  beneath  the  falling 
bricks.  The  most  hideous  speeches  rushed  ready 
made  to  his  lips.  Words  full  of  the  horrid 


192  THE  BALANCE 

torment  that  did  so  torment  him;  words  alive 
with  the  same  fire  of  passion.  He  pushed  the 
words  from  him  and  doing  so  got  some  glimpse 
of  the  pathos  and  tragedy  that  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  this  strange  burlesque  of  love. 

"Woman,"  he  said,  "has  brought  man  noth- 
ing but  misfortune  since  the  world  began." 

One  of  Rachel's  hands  moved  a  little,  and 
then  became  quiet.  Bitterness  flooded  in  on 
Richard;  his  life  it  seemed  was  always  to  be 
messed  and  spoiled  and  pulled  about.  "With- 
out woman,"  he  said,  "man  would  have  possessed 
his  soul;  he  would  have  come  into  his  inher- 
itance." 

Rachel  took  a  little  halting  step  nearer.  "It 
is  not  true,"  she  answered  stonily. 

He  had  but  one  wish,  and  that  was  to  free 
himself.  "What  is  woman?"  he  said,  "but  a 
thing  that  drags  man  down?  And  where  she 
is,  what  is  it  but  the  place  where  his  soul  rusts?" 

The  features  of  Rachel's  face  grew  suddenly 
heavy,  seeming  to  sink  inwards,  and  her  voice 
when  she  spoke  did  not  sound  like  a  woman's 
voice  at  all. 


THE  BALANCE  193 

"Then,"   she   said,    "woman   loathes   to   be 


woman." 


She  left  him,  and  passing  through  the  forest 
came  at  last  to  the  ruined  cottage,  and  here, 
standing  on  the  heart-shaped  bed,  she  looked  in 
at  the  room  where  she  had  first  seen  Richard. 

And  it  was  to  her  as  if  all  the  misfortunes 
that  women  have  brought  to  men  fell  on  her  and 
bore  her  to  the  earth.  Sinking  down  on  the 
heart-shaped  bed,  she  wept. 


THOUGHTY 


THOUGHTY 

A  LITTLE  girl  sat  looking  down  the  side  of 
a  big  sun-reddened  hill.  The  fury  of  the  Jutes 
might  have  painted  the  hill  with  the  burning, 
glowing  ashes  of  prisoners;  and  as  moment  by 
moment  the  sun  sank  seaward,  the  great  hill 
decked  and  re-decked  itself  for  the  lurid  rites  of 
sacrifice.  Undisturbed  by  her  surroundings,  the 
little  girl  crooned  softly  to  herself.  "I  am  so 
happy  when  I  am  alone,"  she  sang.  "I  am  so 
happy  when  I  am  alone."  Rising,  she  began 
to  climb  upwards;  and  at  once  she  thought  she 
was  Moses  on  his  way  to  talk  with  God.  Fear 
fell  on  her;  she  dared  not  raise  her  head  lest 
she  should  see  God's  face  and  die;  and  at  last 
her  awe  and  dread  became  so  overpowering  that 
she  crept  into  a  little  hole  in  the  side  of  the 
hill  and  hid  herself.  All  this  time  a  boy,  younger 
and  smaller  and  wiser  than  she,  had  been  fol- 
197 


198  THOUGHTY 

lowing  her  up  the  hill.  He  put  his  hand  into 
the  hole  and  pulled  her  hair.  She  thought  she 
was  dead. 

"Why  are  you  scrabbled  up  in  there  like  a 
frog,  Doozle?"  he  asked. 

She  was  thankful  to  recognise  her  brother 
Pepper,  and  know  that  she  was  still  alive. 

"I  am  Moses,  talking  with  God,"  she  an- 
swered in  a  choked  voice. 

"That's  not  the  way  to  play  Moses,"  returned 
Pepper  disgustedly.  "You  must  break  the  tables 
of  stone,  and  strike  the  rock.  You  had  better 
be  the  golden  calf,  and  I'll  be  Moses." 

"I  shouldn't  care  to  be  the  golden  calf,"  said 
Doozle. 

"It's  a  girl's  part,  anyhow,"  remarked  Pep- 
per, "and  you'll  have  to  be  it  or  nothing." 

Leaving  Doozle  in  the  throes  of  two  minds, 
he  glanced  about  him  and  saw  two  taller  boys 
walking  with  heads  bent  and  hands  thrust  well 
down  in  trouser  pockets.  "There  are  the 
others,"  he  cried  excitedly.  "Let  us  follow 
them  and  see  what  they  are  doing." 


THOUGHTY  199 

"Yesterday  they  put  me  in  the  saw  pit  as 
Joseph  and  left  me  there  all  the  afternoon,"  said 
Doozle,  trotting  after  Pepper  over  the  turf. 

"That  was  because  you  preached." 

"I  wasn't  preaching.  I  was  thinking  of  a 
bird  I'd  seen." 

"Well,  you  looked  like  preaching.  I  never 
saw  any  one  with  a  stupider  face  in  my  life.  All 
the  same,"  he  added  cautiously,  "we  had  better 
not  go  close  to  them  at  first." 

The  warning  came  too  late,  for  scarcely  was 
it  uttered  before  the  taller  of  the  two  boys 
turned.  "What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"Oh,  Gimlet,"  said  Pepper,  "you  might  let 
a  fellow  come  this  once.  You  know  I  let  you 
break  a  bad  egg  in  my  mouth  yesterday,  and 
was  sick  all  the  afternoon." 

"Get  away!    We  don't  want  either  of  you." 

"I'll  give  you  my  missel-thrush's  egg  if  you 
let  me  come,"  pleaded  Pepper. 

"Don't  want  it.    Get  away!" 

"Well  then,  the  sparrow-hawk's  egg,"  said 
Pepper,  and  sighed. 


200  THOUGHTY 

"Don't  want  that  either.    Get  away !" 

"Tell  him  we'll  twist  his  arm  if  he  comes 
after  us,"  said  the  eldest  boy,  and  at  that  the 
two  taller  Thoughty  Ones  walked  off. 

Pepper  fell  into  a  deep  dejection  which  had 
in  it  also  a  fine  blend  of  viciousness.  He  turned 
on  Doozle.  "Get  away!"  he  exclaimed  coldly. 
"I  won't  be  dogged  wherever  I  go  by  a  girl." 

"I  thought,"  said  Dozzle,  "we  might  both 
play  with  Gimlet's  white  rat." 

"Well,  we  just  sha'n't,  so  there." 

"You  like  it  when  it  runs  up  your  sleeve, 
Pepper." 

"I'm  not  going  to  have  it  up  my  sleeve,  and 
now  you  know." 

"Well,  you  choose  what  we  shall  play  at." 

"We  won't  play  at  anything.  Do  you  see  that 
tree?" 

"Yes." 

"Don't  dare  to  move  one  step  past  it  till  I 
am  out  of  sight,"  and  he  walked  off  at  a  smart 
pace.  "Are  you  standing  still?"  he  cried  back. 

"Yes." 


THOUGHTY  201 

"Wait  till  I  say  gone.  I  am  not  gone  yet. 
Gone!"  he  announced  in  so  triumphant  a  voice 
that  Doozle  at  once  thought  she  was  Elisha 
when  Elijah  threw  down  his  cloak. 

Night  began  to  fall,  and  from  the  distance 
came  a  low  mutter  of  thunder.  The  two  taller 
Thoughty  Ones  were  far  away  on  the  side  of 
a  bleaker,  lonelier  hill.  Hundreds  of  feet  below 
the  boys  the  sea  crept  quietly  into  a  little  bay; 
while  overshadowing  them  was  a  ruined  church, 
the  vaults  of  which  had  many  a  time  been  used 
by  smugglers  as  a  store  for  kegs  of  spirits  and 
fine  big  drums  of  tobacco.  Like  the  church, 
however,  the  smugglers  had  fallen  into  disrepair, 
and  only  the  Thoughty  Ones  knew  that  the  long, 
low,  rakish,  devilish-looking  craft  which  lay  in 
the  offing,  quiet  as  peas  in  a  pod,  was  not  what 
she  made  herself  out  to  be. 

"There  isn't  a  cap  full  of  wind,"  remarked 
Gimlet  in  a  sombre  voice. 

"Oh,  she'll  wear  her  way  in,  never  fear. 
She's  only  waiting  for  dark,"  returned  the  eldest 
Thoughty  One. 


202  THOUGHTY 

A  great  yellow  streak  of  fire  zigzagged  slap 
from  one  end  of  the  sky  to  the  other.  Gimlet 
whistled.  "Even  a  fool  of  a  coast-guard  could 
see  in  that  light,"  he  said. 

" Coast-guards?"  repeated  his  brother  scorn- 
fully, "no  jolly  fear.  They  are  all  indoors  hav- 
ing tea  with  the  kids.  They've  been  squared." 

This  idea  had  not  even  been  tasted  before, 
and  Gimlet  relished  it  slowly  down.  "You 
think  that?"  he  said. 

"Sure  of  it." 

"Why?" 

"I've  watched  their  faces  when  they  did  not 
know  I  was  looking." 

Another  flash,  followed  by  a  terrific  peal  of 
thunder,  broke  in  for  a  moment  upon  the  dia- 
logue. The  two  boys  lay  facing  each  other 
across  a  grave.  Gimlet  leaned  a  little  nearer 
to  his  brother. 

"Do  you  think  they  are  all  squared?"  he 
asked  in  a  whisper. 

"There  is  one  I'm  not  sure  about." 

"Brauwn?" 


THOUGHTY  203 

"No,  Tuke.  He's  either  honest  or — ,"  the 
eldest  Thoughty  One  glanced  about  him  for 
listeners. 

"What?" 

"Devilish  deep." 

Gimlet  sighed  heavily  with  accumulated  in- 
terest. "Which  is  he?"  he  asked. 

"We  shall  soon  learn,  but — "  again  the  eldest 
Thoughty  One  glanced  about  him,  and  then  the 
heads  of  the  two  boys  met  over  the  top  of  the 
grave.  "I  believe,"  whispered  the  Thoughty 
One,  "he  means  to  give  both  sides  away." 

"I  believe  it  too,"  said  Gimlet 

"When  knaves  fall  out — you  know  the  rest." 

Gimlet  rose  to  his  feet,  unable  any  longer  to 
remain  still.  "If  it  wasn't  dark,  I  could  swear 
I  saw  a  boat,"  he  said. 

"It's  the  sound  of  oars  we  must  listen  for: 
they'll  be  muffled;  but  if  you  know  how  you  will 
hear  them  all  the  same." 

Rain  began  to  fall,  first  in  big  drops,  then  in 
a  sharp,  loud,  continuous  shower.  The  boys 
climbed  through  a  broken  window  and  dropped 


204  THOUGHTY 

softly  into  the  interior  of  the  church.  A  flash 
of  lightning  followed  them,  and  showed,  almost 
at  their  feet,  a  green  basalt  effigy  of  a  crusader. 
The  fellow  having  fought  through  the  best  part 
of  one  century,  was  content  enough  to  lie  cross- 
legged  through  the  rest ;  and  the  Thoughty  Ones 
respected  his  slumber,  understanding  well  that 
the  man's  heart  had  known  how  to  beat.  N.  T. 
was  carved  on  the  stone  near  which  he  lay ;  but 
who  N.  T.  was,  or  what  N.  T.  had  done,  the 
stone  did  not  relate;  he  had  fought  once;  he 
slept  now;  he  had  been  a  man,  it  seemed,  like 
in  all  respects  to  other  men.  At  the  far  end  of 
the  church  under  the  belfry  a  flight  of  steps  led 
to  the  vaults  below,  and  the  two  boys,  groping 
their  way  down,  entered  the  crypt.  Striking  a 
match,  Gimlet  lit  a  candle  and  the  dim,  wavering 
light  fell  on  the  dripping  walls,  and  on  some 
broken  pieces  of  coffin,  and  on  a  rusty  spade. 
It  was  plain  that  the  grave,  whatever  the  grave 
may  be,  is  a  powerless  affair  at  best,  for  all  it 
had  sought  to  hold  had  escaped.  Drawing  for- 
ward the  lid  of  a  coffin,  the  Thoughty  Ones  sat 


THOUGHTY  205 

down  and  waited.  A  life  or  death  affair  this 
waiting  at  the  risk  of  a  slit  throat  or  shattered 
brain-pan;  but  the  Thoughty  Ones  had  faced 
the  odds  before,  and  would,  if  they  lived,  face 
them  again ;  for  the  Thoughty  Ones,  like  all  good 
men  and  true,  had  their  code  of  honour;  and  it 
was  to  play  the  game  to  the  best  of  the  light 
that  was  in  them.  A  queer  rush  of  a  light,  a 
fata  morgana  of  a  light,  an  ignis  fatuus,  but 
such  as  it  was  they  followed  it  faithfully,  and 
that  was  what  God  meant  them  to  do,  no  more 
and  no  less.  A  fine  thing  this  licence  to  sin 
given  to  every  free-born  man;  this  permit  to 
do  wrong  so  long,  and  only  so  long,  as  he  strives 
to  do  right.  Evil, — what  is  it,  but  the  pathway 
over  which  we  must  all  travel  to  righteousness  ? 
And  one  could  well  believe  that  shall  death  un- 
seal our  eyes,  and  we  look  again  on  that  which 
we  have  done,  it  will  not  be  our  so-called  sins 
that  will  trouble  us,  but  those  showy  acts  which 
we  so  fondly  name  our  good  deeds. 

The  Thoughty  Ones  had  unwritten  permis- 
sion to  leave  the  vault  when  the  candle  was 


206  THOUGHTY 

within  three  gutters  of  dying  out,  but  on  its 
nearing  the  end  of  its  time  a  sudden  gust  ex- 
tinguished it,  and  sent  the  two  boys  simulta- 
neously to  their  feet, — Gimlet,  for  no  reason 
whatever  but  that  it  is  good  sometimes  to  have 
something  stout  and  sturdy  in  the  hand,  laying 
hold  of  the  rusty  spade. 

"How  many  gutters  had  it  left?"  he  asked 
huskily. 

"I  think  if  we  wait  where  we  are  till  we  have 
counted  five,  we  shall  about  hit  it,"  returned  his 
brother,  and  began  at  once  to  count :  "One,  two, 
three,  four,  five." 

At  the  fall  of  five  the  Though ty  Ones  beat  a 
retreat,  a  certain  disorder  being  apparent  in  their 
going. 

"Why,  youVe  got  the  spade,"  remarked  the 
elder  of  the  two  boys  when  they  found  themselves 
once  more  in  the  open  air. 

"We  may  want  it,"  said  Gimlet,  looking 
slightly  confused. 

The  answer,  with  all  it  might  or  might  not 
imply,  was  received  in  silence  and  in  silence  given 


THOUGHTY  207 

a  quittance ;  for  he  who  honours  strength  knows 
also  how  to  honour  weakness.  Gimlet,  conscious 
that  he  had  somehow  fallen  short,  glanced 
fiercely  about  him,  as  if  expecting  to  see  a  dragon 
or  maiden  in  distress  under  every  bush.  The 
rain  had  ceased  and  high  over  the  boys'  heads 
one  sullen,  angry  cloud  travelled  slowly  along 
against  the  wind,  sending  out  great  jagged  forks 
of  light,  now  this  way,  now  that.  On  the  far 
side  of  the  hill,  withered  and  leafless,  the  Felon's 
Tree  stuck  straight  up  into  the  sky.  Many  a 
dead  man  had  hung  on  that  tree  in  chains;  his 
poor  ghost  might  still  be  met  where  the  rotting, 
crow-pecked  bones  had  fallen  and  lain  unburied. 

Gimlet  shouldered  the  spade.  "I  am  going 
to  the  Felon's  Tree,"  he  remarked  with  careless 
ease.  "You  may  come  or  not,  as  you  like." 

The  elder  boy  smiled  grimly.  "Make  a  bee- 
line  for  it,"  he  said,  "and  we  shall  see  what  we 
shall  see." 

At  that  the  two  started  on  their  adventure, 
and  at  such  an  hour,  and  in  such  a  place  a  more 
ugly  adventure  it  would  have  been  hard  to  start 


208  THOUGHTY 

on.  From  the  first  step  the  boys  took  towards 
the  tree  a  long  train  of  phantoms,  the  more  weird 
for  being  utterly  invisible,  tracked  with  them 
pace  for  pace.  The  night  air  gibbered  with 
ghoulish  merriment;  but  the  Thoughty  Ones, 
the  collars  of  their  coats  turned  well  up  about 
their  ears,  stalked  through  the  noise  till  within 
a  stone's  throw  of  the  haunted  tree.  Then  they 
stopped  short,  and  even  their  stout  hearts 
quailed.  For,  lying  stretched  out  beneath  the 
tree,  white  as  cardboard,  stiff  as  a  wooden  doll, 
was  the  deadest  looking  dead  man  that  ever 
ghost  charaded  with. 

"It's  old  Rabbit  -  Skins,"  exclaimed  the 
Thoughty  Ones  shakily;  and  then,  cheered  by 
the  sound  of  a  familiar  name  in  such  an  unfa- 
miliar place,  the  boys  advanced  and  looked  upon 
the  dead  man. 

"Let  us  bury  him,"  said  Gimlet,  stimulated 
to  a  barefaced  hardihood  by  certain  unwarrant- 
able emotions  of  another  kind. 

The  elder  Thoughty  One  did  not  answer,  but 
stared  down  at  the  dead  old  reprobate  who 


THOUGHTY  209 

looked  as  if  he  had  drunk  in  death  by  the  gallon. 
"He'll  haunt  us  if  we  do,"  he  observed  at  last. 
Gimlet  fumbled  in  the  sandy  ground  with  the 
spade  and  made  no  comment.  "I'm  game  if 
you  are,"  continued  his  brother.  "Here,"  he 
added,  "give  me  the  spade." 

But  there  lay  a  virtue  in  the  old,  worn,  spade 
handle,  and  Gimlet  was  loath  to  let  go  his  hold 
on  it.  "No,"  he  said,  "I'll  do  the  digging." 

Never  did  a  man  need  so  much  burying  as 
did  Rabbit-Skins :  three  Sir  John  Moores  could 
have  been  bayoneted  to  bed  in  the  time  that  this 
old  mole  took  to  get  into  position  for  the  night. 
At  last,  however,  he  was  comfortably  disposed 
of,  and  the  Thoughty  Ones  were  free  to  look 
back  on  a  deed  done.  They  did  not  stay  to  do 
so ;  but  flinging  away  the  spade,  bolted  for  their 
lives,  pursued  by  Rabbitt-Skins,  who,  no  sooner 
buried  than  risen,  chased  them  over  the  haunted 
ground. 

Meanwhile  Pepper,  having  driven  twenty- 
two  geese  into  the  dining-room  and  left  them 


210  THOUGHTY 

there  to  feed  on  the  carpet,  had  been  soundly 
spanked,  and  he  lay  in  bed  flumping  first  onto 
his  face  and  then  onto  his  back,  the  one  position 
reminding  him  of  the  past  and  the  other  of  the 
present,  and  each,  as  such,  equally  undesirable. 
The  storm  rattled  and  blazed  outside,  but  Pepper 
took  no  interest  in  it  at  all  till  Doozle  appeared 
in  her  night-gown,  with  a  very  scared  face,  and 
bearing  in  her  hand, — votive  offering  to  an  of- 
fended deity — a  meringue.  Circumstance  had 
so  angered  Pepper  that  he  almost  found  it  in  his 
heart  to  sacrifice  Doozle  and  the  meringue  on 
the  same  altar;  but  moved  to  an  inward  com- 
passion by  a  softening  feeling  in  the  mouth,  he 
took  the  meringue,  ate  it  up,  his  face  the  while 
so  void  of  expression  that  Doozle  would  not 
have  known  that  he  liked  the  meringue  had  he 
not  licked  his  fingers  and  hunted  about  the  sheet 
for  stray  crumbs. 

"May  I  get  into  bed?"  said  Doozle. 
"No,"  said  Pepper,  "you  mayn't." 
There  was  a  pause  in  the  conversation,  during 
which    Pepper    once    more    licked    his    fingers, 


THOUGHTY  211 

thrusting  them  far  back  in  his  mouth  so  as  to 
taste  them  to  the  full. 

"Can  I  sit  on  the  edge  of  the  bed?"  asked 
Doozle. 

"No,"  said  Pepper,  "you  can't.  Fetch  three 
stair-rods,"  he  continued  authoritatively.  "I'm 
going  to  bottle  lightning." 

"How  will  you  bottle  it?" 

"In  the  bath,  of  course,  silly." 

"Will  it  stay  there?" 

"How  can  I  tell  till  I  try?" 

"But  supposing  it  doesn't?" 

"Oh,"  said  Pepper,  putting  a  small,  muscular 
leg  out  of  bed,  "if  you  are  going  to  stand  there 
supposing,  I'd  better  get  the  rods  myself." 

He  went,  and  returned  shortly  afterward 
bearing  the  rods  in  triumph.  "I  took  the  three 
shiniest  I  could  find,"  he  observed.  "Now, 
Doozle,  you  stand  at  the  window  and  wave  the 
looking-glass  while  I  tie  the  rods  together." 

Instead  of  obeying,  Doozle  climbed  into  Pep- 
per's bed  and  sat  with  her  chin  resting  on  her 


212  THOUGHTY 

knees.  "I  am  dreadfully  sorry,  but  I  just  can't 
wave  the  glass,"  she  said  in  a  choked  voice. 

" Why  can't  you?" 

"I'm  afraid." 

"CM/" 

An  appalling  clap  of  thunder  resounded 
through  the  room,  and  Doozle  disappeared, 
head  and  all,  beneath  the  bed-clothes.  "Is  it 
bottled?"  she  asked  shakily. 

"No,"  replied  Pepper,  wild  with  excitement, 
"but  if  you  had  done  what  I  told  you,  it  would 
have  been." 

Once  more  the  lightning  split  the  sky,  turning 
everything  grey-blue,  and  even  Pepper  let  go 
his  hold  on  the  rods  as  the  great  streak  of  fire 
came  bumping  and  banging  earthwards.  He 
drew  a  little  nearer  to  the  bed.  "What  are  you 
doing  there  under  the  clothes,  Doozle?"  he 
asked. 

"Praying  that  the  lightning  mayn't  be  bot- 
tled," she  answered  truthfully. 

"Get  out  of  the  bed.  I  won't  have  you  in 
the  room  at  all." 


THOUGHTY  213 

"I  daren't  get  out." 

Scarcely  had  she  spoken  before  the  sky  caught 
fire  and  blew  up  with  the  most  awful  bang  that 
two  children  were  ever  asked  to  listen  to.  "Oh, 
Pepper,"  cried  Doozle  imploringly,  "please  put 
the  bottling  machine  in  the  cupboard." 

Truth  to  tell,  however,  Pepper  himself  had 
grown  more  than  a  little  shy  of  his  bottling  ma- 
chine. "It's  made  now  and  will  have  to  stay," 
he  said.  "But  I'll  put  the  sponge-bag  on  your 
face  and  then  you  will  be  much  safer.  It's  a 
non-conductor." 

This  simple  and  ready  means  of  protection 
failed  to  impress  Doozle.  "I  am  praying  to 
God,"  she  replied  with  pious  fervour.  "Come 
in  to  bed,  Pepper,  and  pray  too." 

Pepper  reddened.  "I  sha'n't  do  anything  so 
foolish,"  he  answered. 

"Oh,  Pepper,  don't  speak  like  that  till  the 


storm  is  over." 


"I  shall;  I  shall  speak  how  I  like." 
"Supposing  you  get  struck?" 
"Supposing  I  do." 


214  THOUGHTY 

Crash,  bang,  splutter,  bang,  bump,  toll,  roll, 
roll,  roll,  roll  went  the  storm.  "Oh,  Pepper, 
please  pray  before  it  is  too  late,"  implored 
Doozle  again. 

"I  sha'n't,"  said  Pepper,  who  had  grown 
white,  and  who  clutched  at  the  sponge-bag  as 
a  drowning  man  clutches  at  a  life-buoy.  He  sat 
down  on  a  chair,  his  small  brown  feet  and  legs 
drawn  up  under  him,  and  it  would  be  hard  to 
tell  what  took  place  in  Pepper's  heart  just  then : 
yet  one  cannot  but  think  that  there  was  some- 
thing fine  in  that  stern  refusal  of  his  to  seek 
God's  protection.  Little  by  little,  growling  and 
muttering  and  spitting  fire,  the  storm  drew  off 
and  Pepper  was  free  to  get  into  bed  beside 
Doozle.  When  the  Thoughty  Ones  returned 
they  found  the  two  children  fast  asleep.  Pep- 
per, it  was  evident,  sleep  had  taken  unawares, 
for  his  thumb  was  in  his  mouth, — a  position  he 
would  never  have  allowed  it  to  take  up  in  public. 
The  Thoughty  Ones  gazed  down  on  the  small, 
ignorant  brother  and  sister  with  eyes  new  washed 
by  experience.  "Ignorant  as  kittens,"  they 
murmured. 


THOUGHTY  216 

Two  at  least  of  the  Thoughty  Ones  awoke 
the  next  morning  in  a  state  of  mind  that  might 
best  be  described  as  bursting  to  tell  and  bursting 
not  to  tell;  a  most  painful  predicament  to  be  in 
with  a  lot  of  joy  attached  to  it.  At  last  they 
told  Pepper,  and  Doozle  came  in  for  the  fag 
end  of  a  fact  here  and  there, — just  such  scrappy 
bits  of  information  as  is  thrown  out  by  little  boys 
for  little  girls  to  build  up  a  new  heaven  and  a 
new  earth  as  best  they  may.  All  four  children 
spent  an  enjoyable  afternoon  in  making  prepa- 
ration to  resist  the  police.  Bullets  were  cast  for 
the  old  horse  pistol;  cartridges  filled  for  a  pin- 
fire  breech-loader, — money  being  scarce  browns 
were  held  good  enough ;  and  that  no  contingency, 
however  remote,  might  be  overlooked,  the 
Thoughty  Ones  wound  a  huge  coil  of  rope 
round  Doozle's  legs  under  her  dress,  so  that  in 
the  event  of  their  being  captured  she  might  visit 
them  in  prison  and  enable  them  by  means  of  a 
rope  to  effect  their  escape.  The  rope  was  heavy ; 
she  could  scarcely  wobble  from  one  leg  to  the 
other,  and  it  had  the  further  penalty  attached 


216  THOUGHTY 

to  it,  in  that  whenever  she  sat  down  it  raised 
blisters. 

"They'll  take  her  up  for  being  drunk  and  in- 
capable if  she  walks  about  the  roads  like  that," 
said  Pepper. 

"She'll  be  put  on  'the  Black  List'  and  knocked 
off  drink  for  three  years ;  that  is  what  will  hap- 
pen to  her,"  commented  Gimlet. 

"No;  they'll  shut  her  up  in  a  home  for  in- 
ebriates and  give  her  whisky  in  all  she  eats  and 
drinks,  till  the  very  sight  of  three  prize  medals 
on  a  bottle  makes  her  sick,"  remarked  the  eldest 
Thoughty  One. 

"The  rope  rubs,"  said  Doozle;  "can  I  take  it 
off  and  put  it  on  again  later?" 

"No,  you  can't,"  returned  all  three  boys  at 
once. 

"My  legs  are  so  sore;  mayn't  I  carry  it  some 
other  way?"  asked  Doozle. 

"No,  you  mayn't,"  chorused  the  three. 

"Can  I  have  something  soft  between  me  and 
the  rope?" 

"No,  you  can't." 


THOUGHTY  217 

"Must  I  wear  it  in  bed  too?" 

"Yes,  you  must." 

"Why,"  asked  Doozle  despairingly. 
"Couldn't  I  carry  it  in  a  basket?" 

"Girl!"  shouted  all  three  Thoughty  Ones  in 
derision. 

"Under  my  cloak  then?" 

"Girl!" 

Doozle  sat  down.  "It's  a  most  soring  thing," 
she  said  tearfully. 

The  Thoughty  Ones  regarded  her  with  at- 
tention. "Will  you  swear  on  your  Solemn-Dick,- 
may-I-drop-dead-this-moment-Bible-oath  that  if 
you  are  allowed  to  take  it  off  you  will  put  it 
on  the  moment  you  are  told?" 

"Yes,"  said  Doozle,  ready  to  swear  anything. 

"Then  take  it  off,  cry  baby." 

Doozle  hastened  to  do  so. 

After  consultation  it  was  decided  that  a  fort 
must  be  built  in  the  wood  and  armed  with  can- 
non and  not  a  moment  lost  in  setting  about  the 
task.  Enormous  stones  were  hauled  up  from 
the  quarry  and  every  unmortared  wall  was  made 


218  THOUGHTY 

to  contribute  its  share  towards  the  defence.  At 
last  the  fort  was  finished,  but  the  police  still 
lingering,  a  general  field  day  was  ordered, — all 
arms  to  take  part.  Pistol,  breech-loader  and 
cannon  went  off  simultaneously  with  so  much 
noise  and  effect  that  the  Thoughty  Ones  laid 
more  low  than  they  had  intended;  and  brought 
down  on  themselves  an  indignant  be-peppered 
gardener,  who,  having  been  busy  raking  a  path, 
turned  to  and  raked  down  the  fort;  and  as  it 
had  taken  three  days  to  build  and  had  been  held 
to  be  impregnable,  its  demolition  came  as  a  sur- 
prise to  the  Thoughty  Ones,  and  like  most  sur- 
prises that  overtook  them,  proved  to  be 
unpleasant.  A  mutual  distaste  for  each  other's 
society  filled  the  Thoughty  Ones  and  they  left 
the  ruined  fort  by  separate  paths,  only  to  meet 
again  later  on  the  back  stairs,  each  being  sent  to 
bed  for  a  different  and  a  rankly  unjust  reason. 
The  next  day  the  sun  shone  bright,  and  it  was 
held  advisable  to  send  a  spy  to  the  village  to 
spy  out  the  land,  and  learn  what  measures  the 
police  were  taking,  and  whether  Rabbit-Skins 


THOUGHTY  219 

was  being  sadly  missed  or  no.  Pepper  was 
chosen  to  play  the  part  of  spy,  the  Thoughty 
Ones  to  await  his  return  in  the  look-out  tree. 
He  went  smothered  and  bedazed  with  instruc- 
tions, and  confident  that  he  could  learn  all  that 
there  was  to  be  learnt  by  the  light  of  his  own 
wits  alone.  At  the  top  of  the  Look-out  Tree 
the  Thoughty  Ones  awaited  his  return,  the 
breech-loader  and  horse  pistol  loaded  and  full 
cock  beside  them.  After  some  time  had  elapsed, 
Pepper  was  seen  breathlessly  hurrying  up  the 
hill.  It  had  been  agreed  that  three  low  whistles 
were  to  signify  danger,  while  the  wearing  of  his 
hat  on  his  head  was  to  be  interpreted  as  a  sign 
of  security. 

uHe  has  forgotten  to  take  off  his  hat,"  said 
Gimlet  in  an  annoyed  voice. 

"That's  the  worst  of  having  a  silly  sheep  like 
that  to  depend  on,"  remarked  the  elder 
Thoughty  One.  uWe  shall  end  by  being  shot 
down." 

Gimlet  smiled.  "Well,  what  news?"  he  asked 
softly,  leaning  through  the  branches  and  looking 


o 

220  THOUGHTY 

down  on  Pepper,  who  had  reached  the  foot  of 
the  tree. 

"No  one  has  even  missed  Rabbit-Skins,"  re- 
plied Pepper,  in  a  loud,  excited  voice. 

"Ass,"  exclaimed  his  brothers,  "youVe  been 
taken  in,  of  course." 

"No,  I  haven't,"  said  Pepper. 

"Did  you  go  and  watch  Kelly?"  asked  Gim- 
let. (Kelly  was  the  policeman.) 

"Yes,  I  went  there  first." 

"What  was  he  doing?" 

"He  was  asleep  in  the  sun." 

Pause.  "That  may  mean  anything,"  re- 
marked the  eldest  Thoughty  One.  "Kelly's 
deep." 

"You  always  said  he  was  a  fool,"  returned 
Pepper. 

"Did  you  go  to  Mrs.  Rodgers'  ?"  asked  Gim- 
let. Mrs.  Rodgers  kept  a  small  sweet  shop. 

"Yes." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"Oh,  she  asked  me  to  pay  her  what  we  owed, 


THOUGHTY 

and  when  I  said  I  hadn't  any  change  she  told 
me  to  run  away  and  not  take  up  her  time." 

"You  seem  to  have  made  a  jolly  fool  of  your- 
self all  round,"  remarked  Gimlet,  caustically. 

"Then,"  continued  Pepper,  "I  went  on  to 
Sally  Harriett's." 

"Well,  and  what  did  she  say?" 

"She  said  that  if  Rabbit-Skins  was  dead  it 
would  be  a  good  riddance  of  bad  rubbish;  that 
the  last  time  she  saw  him  about  he  stole  her 
clothes  pegs,  and  if  ever  he  dared  put  his  nose 
inside  her  door  again  she  would  learn  the  rea- 
son why." 

The  two  elder  Thoughty  Ones  slid  down  the 
tree.  "A  fat  lot  of  good  you  are  as  a  spy," 
remarked  Gimlet  in  an  icy  voice.  "We  might 
as  well  have  sent  Doozle.  You're  a  girl,  that's 
what  you  are,  and  you  will  have  to  go  into  the 
housemaid's  cupboard." 

Pepper  got  very  pink.  "Twist  my  arm,"  he 
said,  holding  out  a  small  wisp  of  an  arm  towards 
Gimlet.  "You'll  see  then  whether  I'm  a  girl 


or  no." 


222  THOUGHTY 

"I  wouldn't  twist  such  putty,"  returned 
Gimlet. 

"Well,   kick   me   on  the   shins,   then,"   said 

i 

Pepper. 

"You  would  jolly  soon  blub  if  I  did." 

"Kick  away." 

"Shove  him  in  the  housemaid's  cupboard  and 
have  done  with  him,"  remarked  the  eldest 
Thoughty  One. 

The  three  boys  returned  to  the  house.  Pep- 
per made  no  resistance.  It  was  etiquette  among 
the  Thoughty  Ones  to  accept  the  inevitable  with 
stoicism.  Just  as  the  door  of  the  housemaid's 
cupboard  was  about  to  close  on  Pepper,  Doozle, 
more  than  usually  indiscreet,  walked  down  the 
passage,  and  was  promptly  seized  and  thrust  in 
with  him,  so  that  he  might  see  for  himself  ex- 
actly what  he  was  like.  Complete  darkness  and 
a  smell  of  black-lead  reigned  together  in  the  cup- 
board, and  inward  vision  alone  enabled  Pepper 
to  see  Doozle.  Neither  child  spoke:  Doozle 
dared  not  speak;  Pepper  could  not  speak.  Sev- 
eral years  passed  away  and  then  Doozle  knew 


THOUGHTY  223 

that  she  was  about  to  sneeze.  She  pinched  her 
little  finger. 

"Don't  you  stir,"  said  Pepper  in  a  thick  voice. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  going  to  sneeze,"  replied 
Doozle  humbly. 

"You'd  better  not,  that's  all." 

The  sneeze  continued  to  mount.  "Oh,  Pep- 
per, it's  coming,"  cried  Doozle,  breaking  into  a 
loud,  high-pitched  tisshum. 

The  whole  contents  of  the  cupboard  fell  upon 
her  with  so  much  stir  and  noise  that  an  enraged 
housemaid  flung  open  the  door  and  ordered  both 
children  to  "Come  out  of  that,  smart." 

They  did  so,  and  separated,  Doozle  wander- 
ing away  through  the  woods.  Suddenly  she  re- 
membered that  Baldar,  the  Beautiful,  was  dead, 
and  had  had  scarce  time  to  wring  her  hands  at 
the  sight  of  his  horse  and  hounds  when  the 
Thoughty  Ones,  who  had  been  stalking  her  as 
a  witch,  bore  down  and  took  her  prisoner.  She 
was  conducted  to  the  horse  pond  that  it  might 
be  ascertained  whether  she  would  sink  or  swim, 
Doozle  alone  of  the  party  cherishing  no  illusion 


224  THOUGHTY 

as  to  which  of  the  two  she  would  be  found  to 
do  on  trial.  At  this  juncture,  however,  Pepper 
rushed  up  to  say  that  Kelly,  the  policeman,  was 
in  the  road  looking  about  him ;  and  abandoning 
Doozle,  and  guided  by  Pepper,  the  two  elder 
Thoughty  Ones  stole  away  to  take  in  their  turn 
a  look  at  Kelly. 

Nothing  could  have  been  better  calculated  to 
awaken  suspicion  than  the  attitude  Kelly  might 
be  said  to  have  assumed  as  a  disguise.  He  stood 
bang  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  a  straw  between 
his  teeth,  gazing  at  vacancy.  The  Thoughty 
Ones  found  in  that  empty  space  enough  matter 
to  make  any  nervous  female  shout  "Police!"; 
but  Kelly,  inured  to  crime,  twiddled  the  straw 
and  stared  and  stared.  Suddenly  he  stretched 
his  great  arms  high  over  his  head,  first  to  the 
right,  then  to  the  left. 

"Gee-wah,"  he  exclaimed,  "Tum-dum,"  and 
marched  off  down  the  road  towards  the  village. 

A  moving  silence  fell  upon  the  three  boys. 
"One  of  us  had  better  shadow  him,"  observed 
the  eldest  Thoughty  One  at  last  in  a  husky  voice. 


THOUGHTY  225 

"Let  us  draw  lots,"  said  Gimlet;  and  picked 
three  stalks  of  grass. 

"It  will  be  a  ticklish  affair;  we  had  bet- 
ter leave  Pepper  out,"  remarked  the  eldest 
Thoughty  One. 

"I  am  certain  positive  sure  I  wouldn't  mull 
it,"  said  Pepper  shakily. 

Gimlet  looked  at  and  felt  for  his  younger 
brother.  "He  is  small,"  he  said,  "and  that  would 
help  him  to  worm  a  way  after  Kelly." 

"Pd  rather  trust  myself  than  him  in  a  business 
of  this  sort,"  answered  the  eldest  Thoughty  One. 

"Well,"  said  Gimlet,  "supposing  we  don't 
draw  lots  and  you  go." 

"It  might  be  better;"  and  pulling  his  collar 
up  round  his  ears,  and  his  cap  well  down  over 
his  eyes,  the  eldest  Thoughty  One  slithered 
away  after  Kelly. 

Gimlet  and  Pepper  watched  his  retreating 
form  with  admiration. 

"See  how  he  takes  advantage  of  each  rise  in 
the  ground,"  remarked  Gimlet. 

"Can't  he  just  wriggle,"  said  Pepper. 


226  THOUGHTY 

"He's  lying  flat  now,"  cried  Gimlet  enthu- 
siastically. 

A  certain  faint  mistrust  of  his  eldest  brother's 
tactics  tempered  Pepper's  enthusiasm.  "He'll 
have  to  make  haste  or  he'll  never  catch  Kelly 
up." 

"Oh,  he'd  track  him  down  by  the  footmarks," 
said  Gimlet. 

"Kelly's  gone!"  announced  Pepper. 

"Now  you  watch,"  said  Gimlet. 

At  this  point,  however,  to  the  ordinary  on- 
looker it  almost  seemed  as  if  the  eldest  Though ty 
One,  having  wriggled  so  much,  had  grown  some- 
what confused. 

"Why  doesn't  he  run  up  the  hill  and  see  where 
Kelly  is,  instead  of  wriggling  round  and  round 
that  bush  ?"  exclaimed  Pepper  impatiently. 

"Trust  him;  he  knows  what  he  is  doing." 

"He's  running  now  as  hard  as  he  can,  and 
in  the  wrong  direction,"  said  Pepper. 

"He's  going  to  cut  Kelly  off." 

"How  does  he  know  that  Kelly  will  go  down 
that  road  at  all?" 


THOUGHTY  227 

Gimlet  did  not  feel  sufficiently  inspired  to 
answer  the  question.  "Just  you  wait  till  he 
comes  back,  then  you'll  learn  why  he  did  things." 

About  an  hour  later  the  eldest  Thoughty  One 
did  come  back. 

"Well,"  cried  his  two  brothers,  rushing  down 
on  him. 

He  waved  them  off.  "Everything  was  exactly 
as  I  expected,"  he  said. 

"Which  way  did  he  go?"  asked  Pepper,  who 
differed  from  the  other  Thoughty  Ones  in  ap- 
preciating facts  as  well  as  fiction. 

"Oh,  he  just  hid  himself  half  the  time.  I 
think  he  knew  I  was  after  him." 

"I  expect  he  did,"  remarked  Gimlet  reas- 
suringly. 

"He  didn't  gain  much  by  being  so  ferrety," 
said  the  eldest  Thoughty  One  in  a  bitter  voice. 
I  was  reading  him  all  the  time.  We'll  do  him 
in  the  eye  yet." 

"Look  here,"  said  Gimlet,  "why  shouldn't  we 
give  ourselves  up  as  the  murderers?" 

The  suggestion  seemed  to  relieve  the  eldest 


228  THOUGHTY 

Thoughty  One  of  some  inward  embarrassment. 
"We  should  want  a  witness,"  he  remarked. 

"I  saw  you,"  said  Pepper.  "I  saw  you  kill 
him  with  a  hatchet." 

"You  silly  sheep,  he  hadn't  a  mark  on  him." 

"Well,  fire  at  him  through  the  ground,"  said 
Pepper,  not  one  whit  abashed. 

"There  is  something  in  that,"  observed  the 
eldest  Thoughty  One. 

Gimlet  twisted  from  one  foot  to  the  other. 
"I  don't  vote  we  fire  at  him,"  he  remarked  in  a 
low  voice. 

"Why  not?"  said  Pepper.  "Rabbit-Skins 
would  never  know;  he  can't  feel;  he's  dead." 

"Well,  I  don't  vote  we  fire  at  him,  that's  all," 
repeated  Gimlet  lamely. 

"How  did  we  kill  him?"  exclaimed  the  eldest 
Thoughty  One,  "that's  what  beats  me." 

"You  poisoned  him  with  rats'  poison,"  said 
Pepper,  "and  I  bought  the  poison." 

"We  might  stick  Kelly  with  that,"  admitted 
Gimlet. 

"Let  us  go  and  stick  him  then,"  said  the  eldest 


THOUGHTY  229 

Thoughty  One,  and  the  three  boys  started  on 
their  errand. 

They  found  Kelly  having  his  tea.  A  small 
baby  bubbling  noisily  was  balanced  on  one  of 
the  man's  big  thighs,  while  opposite  to  him  sat 
his  wife.  Sarah  Kelly  had  been  nurse  to  each 
of  the  Thoughty  Ones  in  turn,  and  she  loved 
them  with  a  fervour  which  a  wide  knowledge  of 
their  shortcomings  served  rather  to  augment 
than  diminish.  She  smiled  as  the  three  boys 
filed  in. 

"There  now,"  she  exclaimed,  "and  if  it  hasn't 
just  happened  that  there  is  potato  cake  for  tea." 

Pepper  and  Gimlet  glowed,  but  the  eldest 
Thoughty  One,  though  by  no  means  indifferent 
to  the  attraction  of  potato  cake,  waved  back  the 
proffered  dainty. 

"I  don't  think,  Sarah,  that  we  ought  to 
take  it." 

"Why  not,  for  ever  no,  then?"  said  Sarah. 
"It's  piping  hot  and  a  touch  heavy,  just  to  a  turn 
how  you  like  it  best." 

Pepper  at  once  rose  from  his  chair  and  helped 


230  THOUGHTY 

himself  to  a  big  bit  of  cake;  Gimlet  looked  un- 
comfortable, and  the  eldest  Thoughty  One  de- 
termined. 

"Thank  you,  Sarah,'1  he  said;  ubut  I  don't 
think  any  of  us  feel  like  cake  just  now,"  and  he 
cast  a  vicious  glance  at  Pepper  as  he  spoke. 

Sarah  smiled  as  she  put  the  cake  back  on  the 
table.  "La,  and  how  like  yourself  you  are  in 
everything,"  she  remarked.  "You  always  was 
one  for  having  your  play  out  first  no  matter  what 
it  cost  'ee." 

"It  is  likely  to  cost  us  a  good  deal  this  time," 
said  the  eldest  Thoughty  One,  gloomily,  for  he 
had  begun  to  believe  that  he  had  killed  Rabbit- 
Skins. 

"Why,"  exclaimed  Sarah,  "whatever  have  'ee 
all  done  now?" 

"Well — Pepper  is  not  in  it;  there'll  be  one 
of  us  at  any  rate  who'll  escape  the  gallows." 

"Gallows  indeed!"  repeated  Sarah  sharply. 
"Don't  you  tell  up  none  o'  such  stuff.  Thoughty 
you  always  was,  and  God  help  'ee,  always  will 
be;  but  murder  never." 


THOUGHTY  231 

The  eldest  Thoughty  One  leant  forward. 
"We  killed  Rabbit-Skins/'  he  said  in  a  husky 
voice,  "and  buried  him  under  the  Felon's 
Tree." 

"And  how,  if  I  may  make  so  bold  as  to 
inquire,"  Kelly  asked,  stretching  out  his  long 
legs,  "did  you  kill  the  drunken  baste?" 

"I  can  answer  that  question  for  you,"  said 
Pepper,  who,  defrauded  of  the  gallows,  saw  with 
dismay  the  younger  son's  portion  rapidly  falling 
to  his  share.  "We  killed  him  with  prussic  acid. 
I  know,  because  I  stole  the  poison." 

"We  put  it  in  his  beer,"  continued  Gimlet, 
taking  up  the  tale,  "and  the  fool  drank  the  stuff 
to  the  dregs." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  while  Kelly 
weighed  the  possible  veracity  of  the  evidence 
against  the  glibness  of  the  witnesses. 

"What  did  Rabbit-Skins  do  after  that?"  he 
asked. 

"He  gave  the  awfullest  curse  you  ever  heard, 
and  hooked  it,"  said  Pepper. 

"I  can  believe  you,"  admitted  Kelly. 


232  THOUGH TY 

"Don't  you  dare  to  believe  any  such  stuff," 
exclaimed  Sarah. 

"Talking  about  dead  men,"  said  the  eldest 
Thoughty  One,  "I  never  saw  a  dead  man  look 
so  dead  as  Rabbit-Skins."  This  remark  had  all 
the  weight  of  truth  behind  it. 

"I  don't  believe  that  there  is  one  of  'ee  that  has 
ever  set  eyes  on  a  dead  man  yet,"  Sarah  inter- 
posed in  a  sharp  tone. 

"What  did  he  look  like?"  asked  Kelly. 

"He  was  bent  up  and  yet  he  looked  straight," 
the  eldest  Thoughty  One  answered.  "He  was 
all  angles;  you  could  have  measured  a  square 
with  him." 

The  words  conjured  up  a  vision  of  the  dead 
man  before  Gimlet's  eyes  and  he  shuddered  at 
the  remembrance.  "There  was  one  foot  that 
simply  wouldn't  get  buried,"  he  said.  "No 
sooner  did  we  bury  it  up  than  it  trod  out  again." 

Kelly's  face  grew  more  serious.  "And  what 
do  you  suppose  is  going  to  happen  to  you  all 
if  this  be  true  you're  telling?"  he  asked. 

"True !"  cried  Sarah  indignantly,  "there's  not 


THOUGHTY  233 

a  word  o'  truth  in  it,  and  you're  nothing  but  a 
banging  great  babby  to  listen  to  such  trash." 

"Go  and  poke  under  the  Felon's  Tree  with  a 
stick,  and  you'll  soon  learn  whether  what  we 
say  is  true  or  not,"  remarked  Pepper,  helping 
himself  to  another  piece  of  potato  cake  as  he 
spoke. 

1  Well,"  said  Kelly  rising,  "dang  me  if  I  don't 
go  and  see  for  myself." 

Sarah  turned  on  him.  "Don't  you  think  to 
stir  from  this  house,"  she  said  threateningly. 
"I've  not  heard  tell  yet  that  it  is  a  policeman's 
business  to  go  digging  about  for  dead  men  that 
ain't  never  been  buried.  I  always  supposed  as 
how  he  was  put  in  the  village  to  keep  things 
quiet  and  respectable." 

Kelly  sat  down  again. 

"They'll  have  to  answer  for  what  they've 
done,  Sarah,"  he  expostulated  feebly. 

"Done !"  repeated  Sarah,  "done !  They  ain't 
done  nothing,  that's  what  they've  done.  Don't 
I  know  'em  inside  out." 


\ 


234  THOUGHTY 

"He'll  have  to  do  his  duty,"  said  the  eldest 
Thoughty  One,  in  a  solemn  voice. 

"Now  you  just  be  quiet  like  a  good  child," 
replied  Sarah,  "for  child  you  are  and  always 
will  be.  Why  it  ain't  much  longer  ago  than 
yesterday  you  was  that  pink  and  small  I  couldn't 
tell  one  end  o'  'ee  from  t'other, — your  little  face, 
from  your  little  behind." 

The  eldest  Thoughty  One  rose  and  left  the 
cottage  without  a  word,  his  countenance  a  stag- 
nant purple  hue.  Gimlet  and  Pepper  joined  him 
a  few  minutes  later,  and  all  three  boys  walked 
with  long  strides  towards  the  other  side  of  the 
world,  coming  at  last  to  the  sea-shore. 

"Let  us  steal  a  boat  and  get  out  of  this,"  said 
the  eldest  Thoughty  One. 

They  did  so,  and  shipped  two  days'  provisions 
and  the  breech-loader  on  board,  the  stable-bucket 
for  water-cask,  and  the  cat  as  live  stock.  They 
tore  up  Doozle's  black  velvet  frock  for  a  flag 
and  cut  a  skull  and  cross-bones  out  of  the  tail 
of  Pepper's  shirt,  and  then,  just  as  the  sun  began 
to  set,  they  sailed  away. 


THOTTGHTY  235 

"Oh,  where  are  you  going  to?"  cried  Doozle, 
who  was  left  behind  to  play  the  woman's  part, 
and  be  ready  waiting  to  hear  all  about  things 
afterwards. 

"Out  beyond  the  other  ships,"  said  Pepper. 

"Oh,  tell  me  what  it  will  be  like?"  cried 
Doozle. 

"You  couldn't  understand  if  we  told,"  said 
Pepper. 

"Oh,  please,  please  tell,"  cried  Doozle. 

"It  is  the  feeling,"  said  Pepper,  and  hoisting 
sail  the  Thoughty  Ones  sailed  away,  out  beyond 
the  other  ships,  just  the  Thoughty  Ones,  the 
boat,  and  the  feeling  and  not  a  soul  beside. 


BOOKS  BY  "ZACK 


Each  I2mo,  fl.SO. 


The  Roman  Road 

THREE  stories,  two  of  which  are  novelettes  in 
length   and   form,  are   comprised   in   a  new 
volume  by  "  Zack,"  whose  "  Life  is  Life  "  and  sub- 
sequent  books   have   made   the  author  widely  and 
favorably  known. 

They  are:  "The  Roman  Road"  a  story  of  an 
English  manor-house  and  its  inmates,  in  a  vein 
entirely  new  for  this  author;  "The  Balance" 
which  touches  life  at  many  points  and  in  unusual 
ways;  and  "Thoughty"  an  original  story  of  the 
youth  of  two  boys. 


Tales  of  Dunstable  Weir 

"  We  are  most  grateful  of  all  for  the  true  sense  of  art, 
which,  scorning  poetic  justice  and  such  romantic  fare, 
keeps  sternly  to  the  probability  of  each  story."  »-London 
Saturday  Review. 

"  Full  of  clever  strokes  and  genuine  human  nature. 
Decidedly  high  in  literary  merit,  being  restrained  in 
manner,  and  dashed  off  with  wit  and  humor." — Chicago 
Record-Hera  Id. 

"  Told  with  perfect  pathos,  and  the  relief  of  humor  Is 
never  wanting." — London  Spectator. 


BOOKS  BY  "ZACK 


Each  12mo,  $f.50. 


The  White  Cottage 

"  A  sure  test  of  the  literary  intelligence  and  judgment 
of  its  readers  and  a  positive  revelation  of  the  genius  of 
its  author." — RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD. 

"There  is  something  large  and  majestical,  as  of 
granite  and  the  sea,  in  these  characters  '  Zack '  has  drawn 
for  us.  .  .  .  Her  work  is  stimulating  and  wholesome, 
full  of  zest  as  rough  weather,  near  to  the  earth,  dealing 
with  lowly  types  without  being  flippant  or  sordid." 

—BLISS  CARMAN. 


On  Trial 


"  It  seems  impossible  that  this  simple  story  of  Devon- 
shire folk  shoulol  fail  to  arouse  enthusiasm  among  students 
of  good  fiction.  Its  inspiration  is  so  ample,  vigorous,  and 
fresh,  and  its  execution  so  masterfully  free.  ...  As 
you  read  '  Zack's '  pages  you  feel,  beneath  the  surface  of 
expression,  the  strong,  easy,  leisurely  pulse  of  an  imag- 
ination calmly  exulting  in  its  own  power." — Academy. 


Life  is  Life 


"The  stories  are  full  of  power.     They  are  poignant. 
They  possess  a  quality  of  tragic  and  dramatic  force." 

—  The  Spectator. 

"There  is  a  flavor  of  originality  which  is  never  miss- 
ing.    '  Zack'  will  take  rank  as  a  strong  writer." 

—New  York  Tribune. 


Charles  Scribner's  Sons,   New  York 


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